


Dangerous

by sunalso



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Happy Ending, Not Epilogue Compliant, Romance, Veela Draco Malfoy, more wing kink than I intended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-01-18 17:59:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 25,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12393252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunalso/pseuds/sunalso
Summary: Life is, at last, safe and stable for Hermione. She knows who she is and who she loves. Until something starts to follow her in the dark and she finds she might not know herself at all.





	1. Safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chinese Translation by Flora_CR : [ Dangerous ](http://tieba.baidu.com/p/6000492131) (currently WIP)

The little leaded-glass window of Hermione’s regular room at The Burrow was open wide, letting in the not-quite-warm spring breeze. It ruffled the curtains and carried with it the promise of rain and flowers. April was always a soggy month and this year was looking to be no exception. Mrs. Weasley had Ron and Harry out in the yard doing something or other to keep the mud and puddles at bay. She could hear them down there, swearing and laughing, as she lay on her stomach on the handstitched counterpane of the bed.

Hermione had gotten out of yard duty by saying she had scrolls to study. Which was true. As a resident healer at St. Mungo’s she had a lot of for-work reading, even though she was officially on vacation this weekend. She’d even pulled out a treatise on the uses of fungus in cases of possession and set it on the desk, but she had a new novel in her bag and the day was so nice, plus she was on holiday…which was how she found herself sprawled on the bed, legs bent and ankles crossed like she was twelve, eagerly devouring her book.

There was a knock at the door and Ginny stuck her head in. “I see you’re avoiding the muck,” she said.

“You’re not down there either,” Hermione replied, scooting over to make room on the bed. Ginny came and sat down cross-legged on the mattress.

“It’s…” She made a face. “Yucky. And I’m sure the boys are handling things and probably having a grand time rolling around in the mud like pigs.”

“It will all be dry by June, right?” Hermione asked, frowning. It still seemed unreal that she was engaged.  Ron had got down on his knee in front of his whole family on Christmas morning and asked her. Of course she’d said yes. It had been wonderful, the happy look on his face and all their friends and family giving them hugs and congratulations. The family part especially. She’d always been so alone, from starting life as the single child of two busy parents to becoming the muggle-born teacher’s pet at Hogwarts. Her training as a healer had been, and continued to be, demanding. Feeling like she was important to someone and really a part of a family meant everything to her.

She ran her thumb over the band of her engagement ring. It was a simple, tiny diamond and apparently a family heirloom. She adored it.

There was also the fact she loved Ron. He was comfortable and safe, words that were very important to her after all the terrifying things that had happened to her and to those she cared about. She and Ron would have a wonderful life together, and as soon as her residency was over, they were planning to start a family.

They lived together in London, a tiny flat that was all they could afford at the moment. It was homey and she enjoyed their life’s rhythms. Ron was so earnest when he made love to her that she couldn’t help but be moved by his feelings, even if it wasn’t some swept-off-her-feet passion on her part. And if he didn’t look like he belonged on a magazine cover, that was no big deal, because neither did she. There was no pressure on her to ever be more than just Hermione, the smart girl more at home with books than with other people.

“I promise it’ll all be perfect by June,” Ginny said, reaching a hand out to curl a strand of Hermione’s hair around her finger. “And not so humid. Your hair’s trying to go wild right now.”

“And that’s with the extra-extra-smoothing charm to help keep it in place.” Hermione set her book down on the bed and sat up, patting at her hair.

“What are you reading?” Ginny asked, craning her neck to see the cover. “ _Bound to the Veela_?” Ginny giggled. “Oh my, Hermione! You read that drivel? Veela romance novels?”

Hermione winced. “It’s just for fun. Sometimes even my brain needs a break.”

“But veela romance novels? It’s kind of icky, isn’t it? The girl doesn’t get a choice, there’s just some bird-guy that swoops in and is like: you’re my mate now, deal.”

“There’s usually more to it than that,” Hermione said. “It’s romantic to think about getting swept away with such big emotions. And they’re just stories, Ginny. Everything always works out okay in the end with everyone being happy and in love. They’re not how the real world works at all.”

Ginny scrunched her face up. “Not at all. Do you remember that news story some years back about the witch that died and her veela lover, who was not her husband, showed up at her funeral?”

“No. I was probably busy with the insane demands of my basic healer training.” Hermione leaned forward, intrigued. “What happened?”

“It was the middle of a very solemn ceremony—she was part of some well-to-do pureblood family—and suddenly this male veela, in full wings and bird-head glory, shows up literally out of the blue. He’s screeching and striking anyone that gets close. The coffin’s just been lowered down and once he’s cleared a space he starts making this horrible wailing sound and throws himself on top of the coffin, where he promptly dies from his heart giving out. No one, especially not the witch’s husband, had any idea this guy existed. It turned out that he’d fathered all three of her kids, which means there’s now some big legal battle about money and inheritance that’s still dragging on.”

Hermione bit her lip. “That’s certainly…lurid.”

“And not all that romantic,” Ginny added. “I mean, I guess your heart literally exploding with grief is in a sad way, but think about it: she was so embarrassed that she was a creature’s mate that she hid him away and spent lots of time pretending he didn’t exist.”

“That’s really sad. And he wouldn’t have been able to help himself, he would have done what she wanted to try and make her happy.” Hermione sighed. “She probably liked how intense he was with her, how he made her feel, but not enough to face criticism for him. He was just a dirty little secret.”

Ginny nodded. “The whole thing is more weird and yucky than tragic.”

“I’ve had to read about veelas as part of my training,” Hermione said. “And when you have half-veelas and add in human emotions and mental baggage, it all gets complicated fast. The death rate is horrible among young part-veelas because they usually have human mates and those mates don’t feel the same compulsions so often they don’t want someone they hardly know, and that’s not entirely human, being all over them. So if the young part-veela isn’t veela enough to simply die because they’ve been rejected, they often spiral downwards into depression and suicide.”

“That’s horrible. I can’t even imagine feeling driven to be with someone. What if you don’t like them?”

“Or they don’t like you?”

Both Ginny and Hermione sat silently, contemplating how not fair the world could be.

“That never happens in those books, though, huh?” Ginny finally asked.

Hermione shook her head. “Never. Even if the girl thinks she doesn’t like the guy at first, she always secretly does. Or, if society would frown on them, the hero and heroine always find a way around it to be together. It’s nice to imagine, at least for a little while, that fate gets things right and that people are meant to be happy.”

“With hot sexy-time scenes?”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed. “Yeah, those too.” Veela males were apparently better…equipped (at least in stories) than the average guy and, while Hermione would never admit it to anyone, the wings did something for her.

Ginny laughed and stood up. “C’mon, time to put your daydreams away. It’s almost lunch and we should head down and see if between the two of us we can cast enough charms to get most of the mud off Ron and Harry so they can get some food into them and warm up.”

Smiling, Hermione shoved the book back in her bag. Fantasies were nice, but Ginny was right, the things that mattered were the things that were real.


	2. Carried Away

It’d been the never-ending shift. One thing after another and one person after another that’d demanded her time and undivided attention. Hermione hadn’t had lunch. Or dinner. Or a snack. She hadn’t even peed for the first ten hours she’d been at work. She was exhausted, hungry, and in need of a shower. Badly. Whatever had been in the potion that’d exploded and stuck to the last patient she’d help with, it’s been rank. The scent was singed into her nose and even after she changed from work-issued robes into her regular blouse and pants, she could still smell it.

Brilliant.

She raised her wand to apparate to the front entrance of her and Ron’s flat but stopped. She was completely worn out. There was a good chance she’d wind up blotching the spell and end up at home minus a limb. How many times had she healed someone after they managed to get separated from a part of themselves? It so wasn’t worth it.

She also couldn’t travel by Floo. Her flat didn’t even have a fireplace. The building was so low rent there wasn't a communal one.

Her only choice was to walk home, which she did more often than not. They lived close to St. Mungo’s for just that reason. It was still chilly enough that she pulled on a jumper. Her hair was a flyaway mess, but the hot shower waiting for her at home would take care of that as well, no reason to try and tame it now.

Other interns and residents waved at her as she left, most of them looking a little envious that she was on the way out. Hermione understood. While it was exciting to be part of something as important as St. Mungo’s and the work was fulfilling, it still took a lot out of you. Sleep was a luxury.

The wind was blowing cold and cut right through her jumper. She crossed her arms and sighed. It’d been decent enough when she’d left that morning and she hadn’t thought to bring a jacket. Two blocks further on and she was shivering. At least it wasn’t raining, yet.

Another block and she felt like an ice cube. Her hands were clumsy as she took out her wand and summoned the energy for a simple warming charm. The heat instantly made her feel better. Just ahead was an alley that would cut fifteen minutes off her walk if she took it instead of going the long way around. It wasn’t lighted, but she was a witch and this was hardly the worst part of London.

At the entrance to the alley, she dithered between a _Lumos_ charm and keeping the warming one going. Another cold gust of wind decided for her and she walked down the alley with her hands still comfortable.

A hundred feet from the entrance, tall brick walls on either side of her, she figured out she’d made a mistake. A clattering came from behind her. She spun and strained her eyes, but could make out nothing. Fear, icy and paralyzing, gripped her. Every terrifying thing she’d ever seen welled up in her mind. The alley’s shadows transformed into dementors and trolls, death-eaters and basilisks.

Then she shook her head and laughed as the shapes changed back to nothing more frightening than trash bins and rubbish piles. If only the sorting hat could see her now, she certainly wouldn’t have ended up in Gryffindor.  Raising her chin and squaring her shoulders, she turned around and continued her walk. The wind was blocked by the building and with her warming charm, it was actually quite pleasant.

She was about halfway through the alley when there was another noise. This one a soft scuffle against the pavement. It was followed by another, and then another. Footsteps. Following her, coming closer. She didn’t turn her head or give any indication she heard, just continued walking.

For one step.

Another.

One more…

She ran.

Sprinting for the alley mouth, she gathered every bit of energy she had and nearly flew out onto the lighted street.

There was an angry squawk behind her and then silence as she put her hands on her knees and caught her breath. Her heart was pounding, the sound of her rushing pulse loud in her ears. A car horn blared as the driver stomped on the brakes, stopping just shy of her. She stared dumbly for a moment at the headlights, then managed to force her trembling legs to carry her back to the sidewalk. The guy behind the wheel yelled at her and gave her the two-finger salute before driving off.

Hermione stood for a moment on the pavement, stunned, but then a wide grin split her face. She didn’t know what’d just happened, but it was probably nothing more than her over active imagination. At the end, it’d sounded like an irate pigeon had yelled at her. Maybe she’d disturbed one making a nest? But whatever had been going on, she felt alive in a way she hadn’t in years.

Adventures had stopped seeming fun ages ago when the fate of the world had been hanging in the balance. She’d forgotten what it was like, to feel time stop, form a plan, and defeat whatever it was you were facing. Even if your foe was just a few imagined noises and an upset bird. Her skin was tingling and her whole body felt lighter. It was exhilarating.

The rest of the trip to her flat seemed to pass in an instant.

“I’m home!” she sang as she entered. She kicked Ron’s shoes to the side and toed off her own trainers.

“Hey, Mione,” Ron called from the couch. “Can you grab me a soda?”

Hermione headed into the kitchen and took a grape Fanta from the fridge. Ron had developed a taste for muggle soft drinks after she’d brought one home a few months ago.

She handed him the drink and leaned over the back of the couch. Ron had the _Daily Prophet’s_ sports section spread out in front of him and was enthusiastically pouring over descriptions of Quidditch matches.

“I’m going to take a shower,” she said, giving him a peck on the cheek.

He turned his head to smile at her but then frowned. “Yeah, uh…what’s that smell?”

“Potion gone wrong.” Ugh, she’d been hoping that she’d just been imagining that the scent had stuck to her.

Ron made a face. “Really wrong.” He returned to his paper.

She stood there another minute, staring at the back of Ron’s head and debating if she wanted to tell him about her flight through the alley. She shivered as the memory sent a thrill through her. Finally, she walked into the bathroom without a word. He probably wouldn’t get it, his work as an Auror-in-Training meant that he battled scarier things than shadows and pigeons all the time. Or at least she thought he did. Ron didn’t say a lot about his job except to complain about the reading and paperwork he had to do. Harry had the same grumblings, which she heard on a regular basis when they met up at the pub every Friday night.

She’d learned not to say much about her work. Both boys tended to make faces and declare most of her stories “gross”, which they were, she supposed. Healing wasn’t a dainty business.

After her shower, she came out to find Ron already asleep in the bed. Closing the bedroom door so she wouldn’t wake him, she made herself a tuna sandwich, with extra pickles like her mum always had, grabbed a package of crisps, and pulled her veela romance novel out of its hiding place in the drawer with the kitchen towels.

Ron had teased her mercilessly the first, and only, time he’d caught her reading one. She hadn’t wanted to fight about it, so she only read them when he was away or sleeping.

Opening the book, she forgot about work, dark alleys, her exhaustion— and even that her fiancé was sleeping in the next room—as she got caught up in the story’s wonder and romance.


	3. Friday Night

The pub was as buzzing. On Friday nights The Anxious Accordion was always packed with witches and wizards looking to relax after a busy week.  Hermione didn’t have a consistent schedule and was on shift in the morning, so she was stuck nursing a glass of ice water instead of a pint. Ron was lounging next to her in their regular booth, the one with a faded Chudley Cannons jersey pinned to the wall over it. Harry was sitting across from her, but Ginny was caught up with a big story and hadn’t been able to make it.

“How’s work going?” Harry asked Hermione, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

“It’s been busy,” she said. “Spring is apparently the time for potions to go wrong.”

“She’s not kidding,” Ron said. “You wouldn’t believe what she came home smelling like the other night.”

Harry made a face.

Hermione sighed. “You’ll be glad to know that the wizard who was hurt when the potion exploded is recovering quite well.”

Both boys looked chastened.

“That’s good,” Harry said. Ron took a big drink of his beer.

“There’s also been an unusual amount of unicorn gorings this year, just yesterday a witch came in with…” she trailed off. Harry looked vaguely green.  “She’s doing fine now,” Hermione quickly finished.

“That’s my girl,” Ron said, putting an arm around her. “Fixing everybody up.” She smiled. Ron’s gaze went back to Harry. “But can you believe that they now want those reports to be filled out in triplicate? Not just a copy, but triplicate?” He leaned forward.

Harry blew out a breath. “Like we don’t have enough to do. Even if you can charm two quills to copy what you’re doing, the whole thing is ridiculous. Who’s reading all those reports, anyway?”

Hermione looked down into her glass, watching the ice melt. Sooner or later Ron and Harry always got talking, or more accurately, complaining, about work. Usually, that was when she and Ginny would have a good chat over who was dating who at St. Mungo’s or The Prophet, or Ginny would catch her up on what her family members were up to. It was light, gossipy, and fun.

Tonight, she didn’t even have that and she felt…lonely.

Which was silly. She was sitting with her best friends, one of which was her fiancé. It wasn’t their fault she was on a different career path than they were. Maybe she should have been a…no, absolutely not. She was where she was supposed to be. It was just exhausting work, that was all, and when she was no longer a resident she’d have more time and energy to devote to other things. A hobby would be nice.

The crowded pub felt oppressive. She wanted to be somewhere with a wide sky and absolutely no people.  

“Hey,” she broke into the rant Harry was on about changes to some policy or other. “I’m going to go to the restroom, be right back.”

The boys nodded as she rose.

Hermione threaded her way through the throng, used the bathroom after waiting in line for what felt like forever, and was headed back to the booth when she literally ran into someone. Her entire body impacted the other person, who didn’t move, but she nearly ended up on the ground. A hand roughly grabbed her arm to keep her from falling.

“Watch where you’re going,” the man snarled in a voice she vaguely recognized.

She looked up into his face and her eyes widened in surprise. “Malfoy?”

He snorted. “Well if it isn’t Little-Miss-Perfect.”

It’d been ages since she’d seen him, though he didn’t look much different than she remembered. Tall, thin, pale blond hair, piercing grey eyes, and an all too familiar scowl. He was dressed simply in a white shirt and black pants.

There was a warm pressure on her arm. She glanced down and frowned. Malfoy’s hand was still wrapped around her. A shiver went through her and she gasped slightly, startled. Quickly, she peeked at Malfoy’s face, to see if he’d noticed, but he was staring at his hand on her arm, a deep crease between his brows.

Suddenly uncomfortable, she jerked away from him and his face went from puzzled to furious.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed.

“Living,” he snapped. “Didn’t know you and your chums would be in this dive or I wouldn’t have bothered.”

“You live around here?”

“As of a few days ago, yes. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Right. Well, are you staying long, because I’m a resident at—”

“I don’t care,” he interrupted.

Hermione couldn’t come up with a response to that one. Merlin, but did he always have to be so rude? He also wasn’t moving away, just standing there staring at her. She searched for Ron and Harry in the crowd, finding them in their same places, sitting and talking. Apparently, neither had seen her predicament. Drat.

“Not surprised you three are still palling around,” Malfoy said. His scowl deepened.

She’d had about enough. “I’m getting married,” she blurted, holding up her hand with the engagement ring.

Malfoy’s jaw clenched, and she prepared for another round of his uncouthness. “Who?” he ground out.

“Ron.”

“The weasel?” The color drained from Malfoy’s face. “You’re…” he trailed off. For a moment he looked almost ill.

“Are you alright?” she asked, not that she really cared, but she was a professional healer.

“It’s too bloody hot in here and I’m talking to a mudblood,” Malfoy spat. “That’s what’s wrong with me!” He yelled the last before spinning on his heel and pushing his way through the other pub patrons to the exit.

 Feeling a little dazed, Hermione made her way back to the booth, sitting down hard beside Ron. Both he and Harry seemed spooked.

“Was that Draco Malfoy?” Harry finally asked when Hermione didn’t say anything.

“Yeah,” she responded.

“What did he want?” Ron asked, glancing towards the door.

Hermione shook her head. “No idea. I sort of ran into him on the way back from the loo and…I guess nothing has changed. He’s still an ass.”

“Obviously,” Harry said.

“He said he just moved to the neighborhood.” She circled a finger around the rim of her water glass.

“Huh,” Ron sipped his beer. “Last I heard was that he was having to look after his mum. She took ill after his father was sent to Azkaban.”

Hermione wondered if Malfoy showing up in the neighborhood around St. Mungo’s had anything to do with that. Though it wasn’t like she could check hospital records. That would involve more ethics violations than even she could name. Asking him was completely out of the question.

“Don’t you two have to train at Azkaban sooner or later?” she asked instead, wanting to change the subject.

Both Harry and Ron groaned.

“Yes, especially because the dementors don’t always understand they’ve been purged,” Harry said.

Ron made a face. “But don’t worry, Mione, neither Harry or I will have to go until after the wedding. The other trainees made sure of it, so we’re scheduled for the end of August.”

“Oh,” she said, wondering when Ron had been planning to tell her.

“It’s only for a month,” Harry added.

“Ah.” Was that all? She supposed it would go by quickly and she could sign up for extra shifts at work to keep her busy.

Ron sprawled back against the wooden seat of the booth. “And once we’re official and not in training, it’ll be only once every other year for two months at a time. Maybe more, depending on what else is going on.”

“That’s good.” She hadn’t thought about that at all, her husband going to be a warden on a desolate rock in the middle of the ocean, ensuring that the worst of the worst of the wizarding world remained captive.

“Have you been practicing your Patronus charm?” Ron asked Harry.

She tuned out his answer, thinking instead that she really had no idea when and how often Ron’s work might take him away for weeks or months at a time. Her life plan included a family, but what if their child was born when he wasn’t there? Or if dad died somewhere far away? She wasn’t angry, it just was something she hadn’t really considered before. Maybe Ron could request to only work cases close to home, at least while the children were small? Only he wouldn’t be happy if Harry was off being dashing and he couldn’t go along.

It was something she and Ron were really going to need to talk about later.

Hermione rubbed her hand over her arm, it still felt warm, right where Malfoy had been touching her. She rolled her eyes. Great, now she was thinking about him. Draco hadn’t crossed her mind in months, now her thoughts were circling back to him. Why did he always have to be such an annoying pain?


	4. Out Of The Frying Pan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm well aware I'm *very* deep into fandom territory. But I'm having so much fun! (And hope y'all are too!)

Cities have no stars.

Hermione tilted her head back, looking up at the night sky. It was the ugly orange of light pollution, along with a faint haze that was probably actual pollution. But even with its notes of car exhaust and stale cooking grease, the cool air outside the hospital was welcome after her long day. Mondays were always the worst.

It must have rained earlier, everything was damp, and she was glad for her warm, dark gray corduroy jacket and the heavy wool tights she had on under her long black skirt. From her pocket she pulled a knit toque—another Christmas present from Mrs. Weasley—and pulled it down over her ears.

The streets were busy and everyone seemed to be in a hurry, except her. She was too tired to hurry.  Instead of heading directly to her flat she made her way to a few streets over to pick up curry for dinner. It wasn’t Ron’s favorite, but he’d probably already filled up on sandwiches and crisps so it wouldn’t matter anyway.

The bag of rice and rich curry swung gently from her fingers as she walked. It wasn’t until she was half a block off the main street that Hermione became aware that something wasn’t right. She halted and glanced around, but all she saw were parked cars, houses with lit windows, and trees that were just beginning to leaf out for spring. Her steps on the wet pavement sounded loud in her ears as she started walking again and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched.

The little hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

There was a muffled noise behind her. She wasn’t alone. But when she turned, the damp street looked the same as before.

She walked faster, her thick tights uncomfortably heavy on her legs. Her heart was pounding against her ribcage.

It was the alley all over again.

Terror nipped at her mind along with an unwelcome thrill of excitement. Her vision seemed to sharpen, her hearing to become more acute. She could smell the wet earth from the patchy gardens of the houses she passed and the scent of her dinner, which was wafting from the bag she was carrying. Even the slight breeze that tousled her hair and raised goosebumps on her neck felt more defined, as if her skin was aware of the individual air molecules as they slid by her.

Hermione stopped her semi-flight and laughed. She was being ridiculous. Obviously, her imagination was running away with her.

“You’d think I’d been reading crime novels and not cheesy romances,” she said out loud and giggled at herself again. Her pulse began to slow. Her mind must be a little tired of all the textbooks and articles she was reading. It was craving a distraction. She’d give it one by cutting back over a block and stopping at the little shop Ron got his sandwiches from to pick up a witch bridal magazine. They were the best since you could see the entirety of a dress instead of just a still frame picture. She still needed to pick a florist as well. Luna had sent her an owl with suggestions, but Hermione was rather sure that if she went with any of those that her guests might not be entirely safe.

Having toggled the switch in her brain over to ‘wedding planning’, she walked calmly across the street, between two parked cars, and down an alley that would lead her to the little row of shops not far from her flat.

She’d barely passed into the narrow space when there was a rash of footfalls behind her. Startled, Hermione turned and gasped. There was a shadow that wasn’t quite human shaped and a pale hand that was reaching out for her.

The plastic bag with her dinner in it dropped to the pavement as she whipped back around and tried to run at the same time as she fumbled for her wand. She’d barely managed to yank it from the pocket of her jacket before impossibly strong hands propelled her against the brick wall of the alley. The air was driven from her lungs and her wand was plucked from her grasp.

In the next instant, she was tugged away from the wall and let go. She took a stumbling step, tripped over the uneven concrete of the alley, and ended up on hands and knees on the wet ground. She flipped over and scuttled backwards a few feet, fear lurching in her chest.

A light snapped on in one of the second story windows overhead, creating a small patch of illumination that drove back the darkness of the alley. Hermione scrambled into it, panic flooding her.

Time stopped as the thing chasing her edged forward. It stopped just short of the patch of light, hesitated, then stepped forward, seeming to unfurl as the light cascaded over its form.

Oh no.

Her first coherent thought was something along the lines of _:_ _I thought their wings were supposed to be scaly. Like a dragon’s._ The magnificent set of pure white wings, which weren’t able to stretch out properly in the narrow alley, were completely feathered. Would they be soft to touch?  Wait, not pure white. The long flight feathers on the trailing edges were black. Under her gaze, the wings twitched and flexed.

Hermione’s fear ebbed away. Whatever was happening, she knew she was in no danger.

It was one of her fairy tale stories come to life.

The creature’s—the veela’s— head was that of a magnificent bird of prey. Piercing black eyes were fixed on her from under a hooded brow of white feathers. The hooked beak was dark grey and betrayed no emotion. The snow-colored feathers continued down the neck, which was thick and birdlike, finally tapering out just above a set of very human collar bones…and a very male chest.

A very nice male chest that was bare.

Hermione bit her lip. It wasn’t usually polite to stare, but the veela didn’t seem to mind.

She really wanted to stare.

Her eyes wandered lower to the back pants the creature was wearing.  

Oh dear.

The veela most definitely didn’t mind her staring.

Her gaze snapped back to the veela’s face. He was watching her intently. The night seemed much too warm all of a sudden, the air too heavy with humidity. It was hard to breathe. Her bra was digging into her ribs and the fabric was chaffing her nipples as her chest heaved as she worked to get enough air in. The wool tights on her legs were scratchy and hot.  

The lean muscles of the veela’s shoulders and chest rippled as he slowly crouched before her.

What would it feel like to touch them? Slide her hands over his skin?

Molten heat filled the area between her hip bones and she trembled.

“Hi,” she said weakly.

Something akin to a chuckle rumbled through the veela’s chest and he waved a hand at her.

It made her blush and giggle like she was a schoolgirl again, but she couldn’t look away from the creature in front of her. He was amazing.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

The veela let out a rather indignant noise and pointed a finger at her.

She scrunched her brows together and the creature sighed. Loudly. It pointed to itself, then to her, repeating the process several times.

What in Merlin’s name could it—

“Me?” she squeaked.

The veela nodded once, decisively, and dropped his hand to rest on his knee.

Er, no? She hadn’t even considered it. Though she supposed having a veela chase her into a dark alley and half tackle her should have been a clue. Between fear and lust, her brain had gone all mushy. It was a good thing her Hogwart’s professors couldn’t see her now. So much for that brightest witch of her age malarkey.

Her thoughts wheeled as the implication of what was happening settled in.

She couldn’t be the mate of a veela. She just couldn’t.

She…

The veela reached out and clasped a hand around her stocking clad ankle. Heat raced up her leg and she completely forgot how to think.

Inside her, there was only fire.


	5. Accio

Hermione stared at the long, pale fingers clasped around her ankle.

Her whole body was aware of nothing else but the feel of them, right up until a fat, freezing cold, raindrop landed on her cheek. Startled, she glanced upward. The veela made a less than pleased noise and his grip tightened on her ankle. Her gaze returned to his wide, dark eyes as rain began to pelt down.

“It’s raining,” she said inanely. “I need to—”

Before she had a chance to finish, the veela scrambled forward and swept his wings over her, sheltering her from the storm. Their wide expanse also blocked the light, leaving her in near darkness with the veela, who was much closer than before. She could smell him now, his scent clean and earthy rather than birdlike. He was on his hands and knees, his palms resting on the rough pavement, one on either side of her legs.

Hermione bit her lip and struggled to get her body and racing heart under control.

She’d never been so aware of another living creature before. He seemed to take up far more space than he should.

She wanted to run.

She never wanted to be anywhere else.

Twittering softly, the veela returned the fingers of one hand to her leg. He touched her shin with a single finger and slowly dragged it in a line over the coarse fabric of her tights until he reached her knee.

Merlin, she couldn’t breathe.

Her knees were bent slightly and the veela trailed his finger over the outside of one leg until he was able to gently invade that space between her knee and the ground. His fingertips hovered there for a second and then he firmly stroked her, his hand hot even through her tights.

Hermione whimpered as her hips jerked off the ground. It was just the back of her knee. It shouldn’t have felt so bloody amazing.

She was losing her mind.

The veela was looking rather smug for a creature with a beak instead of a mouth.

His hand returned to her knee, squeezed gently, and ever so slowly it began to trek higher.

Hermione vaguely thought about telling him to stop, but she couldn’t get her lips to form the words. She wanted this in a bone deep-way. It was like nothing she’d ever even imagined before. Her blood was on fire and words like ‘should’ and ‘proper’ had lost their meaning.

There was no world outside her veela’s wings and no one besides the two of them existed in the entire universe.

The veela’s hand stalled on her thigh, his palm burning like a brand against her. He’d reached where her skirt was bunched up around her thighs. He cooed, the sound rich and warm.

He was asking for permission.

For a moment, she hung suspended over the abyss.

This was the divide. A second when there’d be a before and an after.

Time seemed to stop and even the pitter-patter of the rain disappeared, replaced by the ragged sound of her breathing and the roar of her pulse in her ears.

Before, she’d always been able to trust in logic and reason, but those had sailed right out the window the moment the veela had touched her. They’d been replaced by craving and longing, want and need.

Hermione finally figured out she must have already made up her mind much earlier. Maybe when she’d belatedly realized the veela was hers?

She was his.

Desire streaked through her and time started flowing again.

“Yes,” she said, her voice hoarse.

The veela let out what sounded like a very relieved sigh. As if he’d been holding his breath while waiting on her decision.

Hermione wiped her palms on her skirt and raised them to grip the veela’s biceps. Beneath her grip his muscles were tense, and she wondered if he was as nervous as her.

With a soft, happy, noise, the veela delved his hand under her skirt. Her thighs trembled as he caressed one and she cursed her stupid tights that were keeping his skin from being against hers. As he worked his way higher she shifted and parted her legs further. The veela moved so he was kneeling between her spread thighs.

His presence overwhelmed her. Every nerve she had was straining towards him. The fabric of her bra felt rough against her nipples and her breasts were heavy. The lust running through her felt like a living thing, hungry and demanding.

The veela’s hand on her inner thigh made her moan and he shuddered under her hands.

He paused for a beat, then took a deep breath and his fingers grazed over the fabric covering her core.

Hermione didn’t know if she was dying or alive for the first time.

Her pelvis rolled and the veela gasped, his own hips bucking against air. He hissed as her nails dug into his arms.

Abruptly, his hand was no longer gentle. He hooked a finger into the coarse weave of the tights where they covered her crotch and jerked, tearing the fabric. In the next instant, he was touching her, the pads of his fingers rough. Hermione could do nothing but moan and the veela echoed the noise.

He found the spot she needed him to and, with a little experimentation, he found just the right rhythm that soon had her gasping and mewling.

Her head fell back and before she knew It, fireworks erupted behind her eyelids. She keened her pleasure and the veela gave a harsh, victorious cry. Everything inside her shattered and Hermione knew that when the pieces were put back together, she wasn’t going to be the same as before.

While she was still quaking from her climax, the Veela’s hand twisted and he slid his finger deep inside her.

Hermione gasped, and her head snapped forward as her eyes flew wide open. She felt like a live wire, energy was coursing through her, sparking and cracking.

The veela, hand remaining in place, straightened up as much as possible. His wings swept back and stretched out as far as possible in the narrow alley. The rain had disappeared, living nothing but mist behind.

Hermione placed her hands on the damp ground and braced herself. The veela’s eyes were barely open and he was visibly trembling. She swallowed hard. He was magnificent, a veela inside his mate for the first time. It might not be quite how he wanted, her eyes flicked down to the front of his pants before returning to his face, but every line of his body and every one of his quivering muscles spoke of absolute rapture.

Emotions she couldn’t name were tumbling through her. Everything was different now.

When he pulled his hand away from her, it felt like the world lost some of its color.

“What about you?” she asked, unable to stop her eyes from darting to the front of veela’s pants again. He had to be uncomfortable. He tilted his head to the side and held up the hand he’d used to touch her, making a show of sniffing it. “Oh,” she said, not sure if she had wanted quite that much information.

The veela chuckled and stood. His eyes were hooded as he gazed at her and Hermione self-consciously patted her hair and wondering exactly what all the humidity was doing to it.

“I’ll be seeing you again soon, won’t I?” she asked, her voice wavering.

The veela nodded once, firmly. He stretched out one wing, the flight feathers dark as ink, and brushed the tip against her cheek. She turned into the touch, but then he was gone, running down the alley. He paused, crouched, and leapt, flapping his wings once before alighting on the roof and disappearing.

How very superman of him, she thought drolly.

The night seemed much colder now that she was alone. The fog clung to her and, beneath her, the concrete was hard and uncomfortable.

Sighing, she stood.

Her knees turned to jelly, and she ended up crashing back down on them. Pain jolted through her. It hurt like heck and she was sure she was bleeding. After a moment, she tried standing again, this time supporting herself against the alley’s brick wall. She managed to stay upright.

Hermione held out her hand. “ _Accio_ ,” she said.

Nothing happened. It wasn’t that surprising. Her thoughts were still jumbled. She took a deep breath and clearly pictured her wand.

“ _Accio_ ,” she said again, more firmly, and this time her wand flew to her fingers. That was better.

“ _Lumos_.” The dingy alley became much brighter, but it did nothing to illuminate the morass of emotions churning in her chest.

And, blast it, she still had to walk home.


	6. Sandwich

Hermione extinguished her _lumnos_ charm right before she stumbled onto the street. She was half a block closer to her flat before she remembered her carryout dinner. She looked behind her as if the bag with her curry was going to be sitting there. Of course it wasn’t, and she sure wasn’t going to go back to look for it.

She wasn’t hungry now anyway.

And it’d be cold and gross.

Hermione felt cold and gross. Her hat was gone. She didn’t remember losing it. Had the veela pulled it off? Maybe Mrs. Weasley could knit her a new one.

The veela.

Why had she…

Had that been her?

She stopped, waiting for the crosswalk light to change over.

Her lids closed and she was back under the shelter of the veela’s wings, his hands on her, making her—

With a gasp, she opened her eyes wide. To distract herself, she murmured the names of medicinal plants and their uses. The familiar litany was soothing, and she kept it up until she unlocked her door and entered her apartment.

The door slammed closed behind her, the loud noise startling her and making her jump.

Ron was immediately on his feet and coming around the couch. “Moine? Are you alright? What happened?”

She stared at him.

Ron.

Her fiancé.

She hadn’t thought of him once when the veela’s hands had been on her.

She couldn’t. She just couldn’t…tell him. He’d hate her. Harry would hate her. They’d be so disappointed in her. Hermione had always been the smart one, the one they looked up to because she thought things through and made good decisions.

Now she’d done something dumb, dumb, dumb.

“I fell,” she whispered. “And I lost my hat. And I’d gotten dinner, curry, even though I like it more than you, but I lost that too, and my knees hurt.”

Ron wrapped her in a hug. It was familiar and safe. She sagged against him.

“I ruined my tights,” she said against his shoulder.

“They’re just bloody tights. No worries, but you’re freezing.”

She was?

“And your hair’s damp.”

“It’s foggy.”

Ron straightened up and kissed her forehead before cupping her cheek in one hand. “I know you won’t agree, but sometimes I think you work too hard. I mean, I’ve been thinking that since our first year, but the hospital is hard on you, and you’re hard on yourself.”

Why did Ron have to pick today of all days to be understanding?

“I’m going to go take a shower to warm up,” she said, her voice tiny.

“Okay, I’ll be here when you’re done.”

“Thank you.”

Hermione shrugged out of her jacket and hung it up. In the bathroom she ran the water as hot as she could stand it and stood under it the spray, wishing it could wash away more than dirt.

Closing her eyes, she cupped her breasts. Leftover lust was still zinging around inside her. What would Ron think if she walked out of the bathroom naked and jumped him? Mostly he’d probably be confused, but he’d go along with it. Only, it wouldn’t be fair, because it wasn’t him she wanted.

In disgust, she let go of her breasts and leaned her shoulder against the shower’s wall as she began to sob. This was impossible. Her life was all worked out. She had a profession, a fiancé that loved her, a home, and death was no longer chasing her. It was what she wanted, what she’d dreamed of when things had been dire.

Now she was being turned inside out, and it barely felt like her body belonged to her. The future had become a jumbled mess. Rejecting the veela wasn’t an option, she couldn’t let him die. Every single cell in her body cried out against that.

No, she wouldn’t be responsible for his death, but there had to be a way around this. Some way out she wasn’t seeing that would make everything okay and normal again.

Her tears stopped as Hermione let the logical side of her brain take over. She listed out every fact she knew for certain about veelas, which wasn’t a lot. There was a great deal more that was conjecture, but it was all from the romance stories she read, which weren’t a very reliable source.

Mechanically, she washed her hair, lathering it thoroughly. The stories were wrong, really wrong. The novels had severely underestimated the desire for…consummation. Part of her was going through her usual shower routine, and the rest was screaming at her to run back to that alley and call for the veela until he returned and cemented their bond.

She didn’t even know the veela’s name.

He could be anybody.

God, she hoped he wasn’t a complete prat.

Maybe…maybe that women Ginny had told her about had been smart to separate out her everyday life from the moments with her veela.

Hermione didn’t know if she could remain sane once she knew how it felt to be in his arms. There was no way fire like that could be something you lived with continuously.

Hermione bit her lip. Would he be handsome in his human guise? What did he do when he wasn’t seeking out his mate? He could be up to a year or two older than her, and there was no reason to think he’d gone to Hogwarts.

Stop, she told herself as she turned off the water. She would have to…to be rational the next time she saw her veela. Talk to him, figure out what they could do. She wanted him to live, but maybe there would only need to be the one…time between them. One time which Ron would never need to know about, and then perhaps the veela would be satisfied chatting with her over coffee once a month and he could go on about his life while she continued with hers as planned.

The towel was rough as she dried herself. That way there’d be no broken engagement, no disapproving looks from, well, everyone, and, most importantly, Ron, Harry, and Ginny would still be her friends. If she lost them, then who would she be?

In the novels, the fantasy was nearly always that the veela showed up and carted off its mate to a life where she never had to cook, clean, or have a job ever again. Hermione had worked too hard not to be a healer because some bird-guy’s instincts had decided her pheromones were the perfect ones.

It was preposterous.

She’d sleep with him once, and that would be that.

Feeling much better, Hermione put on warm pajamas, threw her dirty clothes in the hamper and buried her ruined tights under rubbish in the bathroom’s bin before returning to the living room. Ron came out of the kitchen with two plates and a grin.

“We didn’t have much in the cupboard, but I made us peanut butter and jelly sandwiches along with crisps that shouldn’t be too stale.” He set the plates down on the coffee table with a flourish.

“Thank you,” Hermione said, sitting cross-legged on the floor and sliding one of the plates over so it was in front of her. Ron arranged the front page of the paper by her plate while he went straight for sports. Nothing exciting had happened news-wise, but she enjoyed reading about finance bills and the latest gossip from the Ministry.

There was a comfortable silence between the two of them as they ate. It was nice and normal and not at all exciting in any way.

Hermione dropped her sandwich down as the unbidden ghost of the veela’s hands slid over her skin, making her shiver and gasp.

“You alright?” Ron asked.

“I’m fine,” she croaked, wiping at the crumbs on her mouth. “Just fine.”


	7. Dizzy

It was Friday again.

Hermione was hunched over the usual table at the Anxious Accordion, feeling delightful light headed after one too many rounds of whatever it was Ginny had been buying her.

She’d come in with Harry, taken one look and Hermione, and declared she needed a drink or two.

Hermione hadn’t resisted. Everything had been stressful since the night the veela had shown up. Not that he’d been back since. She’d been walking down every dark alley she could find on her way home from work and nothing.

Weren’t veelas supposed to be barmy once they found their mates? Stopping at nothing to get to them? Was her veela—grey eyes, lithe body, white feathers—defective in some way?

He should have sought her out by now so they could…do the thing they were supposed to.

Hermione groaned and put her cheek against the cool, varnished wood of the booth’s table.

Ginny giggled and patted Hermione on the head.

“Bit pissed, are we?” Ginny asked.

“Ugh,” Hermione said.

“The boys too, we all have a shine on tonight, but you were the one that looked like you needed to unwind.”

“It’s been a stressful week. Work has not been easy.”

Ginny made a sympathetic noise.

“I mean, I bloody well doubt becoming a full-fledged healer is ever easy, but because I’m me, everyone expects so much. I have to be brighter and cleverer than everyone else, or my uppers look disappointed. I’m always on stage, Gin. Then there’s the wedding, which I have to look perfect for.”

“You will,” Ginny’s fingers were combing through Hermione’s thick hair. “I’m going to help. And you drive yourself ten times harder than anyone else. It’s okay not to be perfect all the time. That’s how the rest of us live.”

Hermione sighed. Hopefully, the veela would reappear soon and they could get the business of saving his life over with. Sher wasn’t going to feel right until it happened. Her body thrummed with the echo of the pleasure he’d given her. It was a sweet, soft ache that started up whenever she remembered the veela’s hands driving her mad.

Merlin, she was the worst bride ever.

Ron didn’t deserve a wife that was so eager to shag someone else not even two months before their wedding. And she was hungry to know the veela’s touch. Because of course she was, it was biology. She hadn’t chosen this. It’s not like she’d signed up to be the mate of some random magical creature.

What she had chosen was to somehow be too busy or too tired or too not at home ever since she’d met her veela so she wouldn’t have to get hot and heavy with Ron. Just the thought of being with him made her feel wrong, like she was cheating on the veela.

Brilliant.

She was so buggered.

“I need to…” She trailed off. There were a lot of things she needed, none of which were things that would go over well if she just announced them. “I need another drink.” She lurched to her feet. “Harry, Ron? Refills?”

Ron waved a hand at their nearly full glasses. “We’re good.”

“Ginny?” she asked.

“I’m fine. Are you sure you need any more?”

She didn’t. “Not alcohol. Just water.”

Ginny smiled. “I’ll take one too if that’s the case.”

Threading through the usual Friday crowd, Hermione kept her eyes fixed on the floor. She paused by the bar but realized she should use the loo first. After going, she washed her hands, then turned the water cold and rubbed some on the nape of her neck. She needed to relax. She wasn’t at work, and the veela would find her in his own time.

Walking out of the bathroom, she looked down the side hallway that led to the back alley. It was dim, a few of the usual lamps weren’t lit, and it offered a few blessed minutes of silence away from the nonstop noise of the main room. She was walking down towards the far end when a hand reached out and grabbed her, making her yelp.

“Mudblood,” slurred a voice.

She squinted towards the shadows where the owner of the hand and voice had been hiding. It took her eyes a moment to adjust.

“Malfoy?” she said. He looked terrible. His hair was sticking out in all different directions like he’d been running his hands through it. His face was paler than normal and he had dark circles under his eyes. His well-tailored grey suit was wrinkled, and there was a stain on his white shirt. He reeked of firewhisky. “Let go,” she said, and to her surprise, he did. His hand thunked against the wall at his side as he let it fall.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said, his eyes fixed on her face.

She frowned. “Malfoy, you’re a mess. Is it your mum? I heard she was doing poorly.”

“Right. My mum, that’s it.”

“Do you…do you need help? A ride home?”

He laughed. It was a sharp bark that died quickly.

“I need…what do you care what I need?” he said. His eyes ran down Hermione’s body, and he laughed again. “You look so prim.”

Hermione snorted. Her skirt was knee length, and her blouse had all the buttons done up on it, but it was still chilly out and she hadn’t wanted to freeze. Practical was different than prim.

“Does the Weasel not want any other blokes getting an eyeful of his bride-to-be? Or are you just a stick in the mud?”

“Neither,” she mumbled.

“Let me,” he slurred and raised his hands. Hermione blinked and looked down as Draco Malfoy, of all people, fumbled his way through unfastening the top buttons of her blouse until her cleavage and the edges of her white satin bra were visible. “There we go,” he said, his voice higher pitched than it had been a moment ago.

Hermione wasn’t quite sure where all the air in the hallway had gone.

“Draco…” she said trailing off.

“Yeah,” he said, pushing himself off the wall, which forced her to look up to see his face. His eyes were unreadable.  “That’s right. Draco. And you’re Hermione.” His hands landed heavily on her shoulders.

“What—” she started, but then was propelled backwards into the other wall of the hallway, hitting hard enough that her breath left her in a startled rush.

One of Malfoy’s hands dropped from her shoulder so that the palm could curl around her hip and then his mouth was on hers.

She gasped.

He tasted of whiskey, the flavor heavy on his tongue as he pressed it between her lips.

Hermione’s body turned traitor for a moment, and she melted bonelessly against Draco, mewling softly as he groaned. His lips were warm and smooth, and his hands curve perfectly around her. Her fingers threaded through his hair, and she clutched at him.

“Hermione,” he moaned, nipping at her lower lip.

“D-Dra…stop!” What the hell was she doing? She pushed him away from her, and he stumbled back.

Malfoy’s face twisted into a grimace. He reached for her again, but she batted his hand away.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

“That should be obvious.”

“You hate me.”

“Also obvious, you twit.”

Hermione snorted. “You’re drunk.”

“Not drunk enough.” He cupped her face in his palms. “Not nearly drunk enough.”

“Malfoy, we’re in a bar. In public. Let me go.”

“So that’s how we’re going to play it?”

“Play what? Let go of me!”

Something like a growl rumbled in his chest, and he stepped back, his hands falling to his sides before clenching into fists. “Have it your way. Run back to your fiancé. Snog him good and proper. Pretend that he makes your blood sing, but I know better.”

Malfoy spun on his heel and retreated down the hallway, slamming the back door of the pub behind him as he left.

Hermione’s head was whirling, and she thought she might get sick. What had just happened? Her brain tried to put it together, but she was too pissed to make sense of any of it. Not Malfoy’s words, or her body’s reaction to his kiss.

It was the veela magic. That was the problem. It was making her hot and bothered, and a sloppy kiss from a sloshed enemy had been enough to wake up her libido.

Gross.

Being away from home became far too much for her as she stood there. She was sweaty and drunk. Completely out of sorts. Malfoy had been drunk too. He probably wouldn’t even remember what he’d done tomorrow, let alone be able to explain his drunk reasoning.

Keeping her head down, she made her way back to the booth. Everything was too much. The noise and the smell. Even the faded orange of the jersey om the wall seemed too bright.

“No water?” Ginny asked.

“Sorry,” Hermione said, raising her eyes to her fiance. “Ron, I’m feeling terrible. I’ve had way too much to drink. Can we go home?”

He frowned and took a deep breath, looking less than thrilled, but then his face smoothed out. “Yeah, let's get you somewhere you can rest.”

“Or heave!” Ginny merrily added.

Hermione winced.

Ron said his good-byes and took her hand. She held on tight.

“Home?” he asked.

She nodded, regretting the action immediately. “Home.”


	8. Mate

“Does my hair look okay?” Hermione asked another one of the resident-in-training healers.

The girl tilted her head to the side and studied Hermione for a moment. “Not bad. It’s much less out of control than normal. Actually, you look pretty good for just finishing a fourteen-hour shift. You have a hot date with your fiancé tonight?”

“Yes, um, more or less, we’re staying in—”

“Say no more,” the girl said with a grin, giving Hermione an exaggerated wink before leaving the women’s locker room.

Hermione sighed. She hated lying, but it’s not like she could start telling everyone the truth, which was that she had no idea where Ron was exactly. He and Harry had left several days ago on some sort of training exercise, and from there they were going to the Burrow to do some mysterious getting ready for the wedding things that Mrs. Weasley had tasked them with.

Mrs. Weasley…Hermione could hardly believe that was going to be her name in not too long.

For two weeks, Hermione was being left by herself. She didn’t mind. It was hardly the first time Ron, and she had been away from each other. Usually, she just worked extra shifts and bought a few new books to read, but this time it’d seemed like the perfect chance for her to get the, uh, bonding she needed to do with her veela completed.

If the nit ever showed back up.

Most of the two weeks was already gone and still no veela. Hermione hadn’t entirely given up hope, so after her shifts she showered in the locker room and changed into cute matching underwear and clothes that were date-worthy, even if it was unlikely the veela was going to suggest they get a bite to eat together before...before they…

Hermione sighed. She was being a prude like Malfoy had said.

Before she had sex with her veela.

There, that hadn’t been such a difficult thing to think to herself.

Dumb Draco. School was long over, and he was still managing to bother her. Well, not lately. She hadn’t seen him since he’d drunkenly kissed her, but she hadn’t been able to dismiss the incident from her mind, either. It’d creep back in if she wasn’t careful, along with the memory of her veela’s hands pleasuring her, and then she’d have to spend several minutes eradicating both thoughts. It was all making her feel a little crazy.

As she stuffed her healer’s robes in a bag and slipped a green corduroy coat on—thank goodness it’d started to warm up—Hermione focused on running over the diagnosis and treatments for some of the more serious magical ailments. She kept it up as she left work, timing her exit so that she didn’t leave at the same time as anyone else. Explaining why she was doing something as mundane as walking home wasn’t appealing.  

The litany of diseases and cures was extensive, and she mumbled under her breath as she walked along the pavement, passing parked cars and meandering in and out of the halos of streetlamps. Her wand was in an inside pocket of her coat, and she left it there as she turned down the same dark alley where she’d first seen the veela. Its lack of light didn’t frighten her as much anymore, and tonight there were even a few spots of illumination from lit windows.

She stopped halfway through and lifted the hair off the back of her neck. The night was humid, and the cool air against her skin was heavenly. Hermione closed her eyes and stood still, enjoying the peace, right until the clatter of a trash bin lid made her jump. She grabbed her wand and spun around, raising it high, only to see a calico cat looking back at her, appearing just as startled as she was.

“Just don’t do it again,” she said to the cat, lowering her wand. The cat didn’t dignify that with a reply, just stalked off into the shadows. Hermione shook her head at herself and put her wand away.

Turning around, she crossed her arms and trudged towards the mouth of the alley.

There was another noise from behind her, this one the soft flutter of wings.

She halted and tried to compose her face, only partially succeeding before she swiveled on her heel and raised her head.

He was there.

Her veela stood, wings folded, just at the edge of one of the pools of light in the alley. He was bare-chested with black trousers that rode low on his hips.

Every nerve ending she had flared to life, and she gasped and stumbled, catching herself with a hand on the bricks of one side of the alley. They were rough against her palm, and she snatched her hand back before she started petting them. She was desperate for any feeling against her skin.

The veela cocked his head to the side, fixing her with his gaze. It was unnerving. Like she was being hunted. Her already wildly beating heart sped up another notch.

All the things she’d imagined saying to him, her carefully constructed sentences explaining herself and her life and how she didn’t have a place in her safe and normal existence for a relationship with a magical creature…it all turned to dust in her mouth.

So she hurled the only thing she could think of at him, “Where have you been?” She straightened up and shoved off her jacket, not caring where it fell. “I’ve been waiting on you! And you don’t show?”

The veela ducked its head and squawked softly, looking sheepish, even as it’s large eyes roved down her body, lingering on her legs.

“You tell me I’m your mate and then just disappear?” Hermione was surprised by how angry she was. “It’s not like I don’t know you can track me! And yet, nothing.” She stormed over to him and poked a finger at his chest. “What am I supposed to think? That you don’t want me?” Her anger fled and tears threatened. Until she’d said it she hadn’t known that under her pique at him for not showing up had been the fear that he’d touched her and found her lacking.

It was one of her oldest fears, that she wasn’t enough.

Her hand shook, but before she could pull it back, the veela caught her wrist and brought her palm to his cheek. The feathers were soft and downy there, and he leaned into her hand. His wide grey eyes were sad.

“You’re sorry?”

He gave a sharp nod, clicking his beak for emphasis.

She smiled and blinked back her tears.

“I’ll forgive you this once.”

Hesitantly, she brought her other hand to his chest. His skin was warm and smooth. His lean muscles rippled under her touch. Desire was pooling in her belly, an endless fire that was burning away everything she usually relied on, like common sense, along with most of her thoughts.

Her body was a lit torch. Her breasts were heavy, her nipples aching. It was the magic of his kind, this wanton, endless desire, but she didn’t care. She felt so alive.

Hermoine leaned forward, brushing her lips over his heart. “I can’t think,” she mumbled. Not with her veela there, real and solid beneath her hands, and lust, more consuming than she’d ever known threatening to drown her.

The veela was pressing into her palms He probably needed her touch as badly as she needed his. He grasped her wrist again, removing her hand from where he’d been holding it the side of his head, and settled on his abdomen instead, his fingers intertwined with hers. She looked down and their joined hands, trying to catch her breath. The veela’s chest was heaving too.

He stepped back, out of the light, and tugged her along with him. She went willingly, not wanting to be anywhere but close to him. Bumping into the wall he leaned against it and set their clasped hands on his belly again, he made a low questioning noise and pushed her palm down a little before stopping.

Hermione took a deep breath. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”

There was so much she was supposed to say, but she couldn’t remember a word of it. Instead, she stepped closer, her hand trailing down to the waistband of his trousers. There was the weirdness that she couldn’t kiss him, not with a beak, and there were feathers on his neck, but his shoulder was bare and human, so she pressed her mouth there, kissing him softly as she inched her fingers down until she could trace along his hardness with her fingers.

The veela moaned and thrust his hips forward as his hands went to her hips, hiking up her skirt until he was touching bare skin. His entire body shuddered, but the sound he made when she reached for his fly was muted and low.

Bleary-eyed, she looked up at him. He appeared torn, and his body tensed, though he didn’t try to push her away.

Hermione’s muddy brain attempted to figure out what was wrong. Because this was what the universe intended for them. To be together.

In the veela romances she’d read, the first time between a veela and his mate was always sacred. Usually, the veela would take the girl to some posh place with a fireplace and a huge bed. Sometimes there’d be succulent food set out. It was always perfect.

Not a dingy alley.

Oh, she got it. “Veela,” Hermione said. “Are you worried because we’re here, not in an expensive hotel on a bed with satin sheets?”

He turned his head away from her and closed his eyes, giving a long piteous cry.

“Stop that. I don’t care. I don’t need plush surroundings or even a bed for everything to be right. Just you.” Hermione wanted him. More than anything. Waiting would be a travesty.

The veela cracked his eye open. She let go of his trousers and raised both her hands to his face, petting the soft white feathers, even running them over his beak and down his neck.

For long moments, she did nothing but touch him, but eventually, she couldn’t ignore the primal force driving her towards him. The call was insistent, only it still felt like her choice. She could walk away, leave him here, but she really didn’t want to. Here, in the dark, she wanted to know exactly how good he could make her feel. It was just once. One time to lose control and let her…what had Malfoy said? Let her blood sing?

That was how she felt, like everything inside her was awake, and it was all crying out for the man in her arms.

“Please,” she said, barely knowing what she was asking for. This had never been her. She was the sensible one, but right now she was a mess of need and want.

The veela made a low noise, a barely audibly chirp, and then Hermione was spinning. In the blink of an eye, their positions were reversed, but before her back could hit the bricks, the veela snapped his wings forward and around her, cushioning her as she slammed into the wall.

His hands were on her, grabbing her rear and kneading her ass as he cooed softly, before encouraging her to wrap her legs around him. He ground himself against her center, and she moaned, too far gone to do anything besides feel.

It was dark around her, his wings blocked the light, and it didn’t matter if her eyes were open or closed, but they were closed as she secured her arms around his neck and mouthed and nipped his shoulder.

The kiss with Draco floated through her mind, but she pushed it away. Not now. Not when she was with her veela.

He let go of her with one hand and pressed his fingers between her legs, humming with satisfaction when he found her ready. The sound of him undoing his pants was loud, and her legs trembled in anticipation.

She gasped as he teased her, but then he was inside her, and nothing else existed.

The world was them.

Hermione clung tightly to him as he thrust hard and fast into her and she flew apart again and again. Rapture like she’d never imagined existed filled her, and it was forever and all too soon that the veela stiffened and screamed his release.

His wings spread out wide as he threw his head back. He was glorious.

The veela managed to set her down on her feet before he collapsed to his knees in front of her, his arms around her waist and his head pressed against her hip.  She laid a hand on his head. Hers. For right now he was hers.

There was a sparkle of magic, and Hermione bit her lip. He was going to shift, and she’d get to see him as the wizard he was, talk to him. Her heart leapt into her throat.

Finally!

They could figure things out, plan to meet somewhere during the daylight. Be normal.

Her hopes were dashed a second later as the veela roughly pushed her away. He stood, quickly refastened his pants, touched her cheek briefly, and darted away from her.

“Wait!” she called, but he was already gone, and she was alone and freezing cold.

Damn him.

Shaking, she picked up her jacket and put it on, patting the inside pocket to make sure her wand was still there. The glint of light off something on the ground caught her eye, and she bent over to pick it up. It was one of the veela’s long flight feathers, pristine white except the tip, which was inky black.

She hid it under her coat and walked the rest of the way home in a daze. She was glad an empty flat greeted her. The still darkness was comforting, and she didn’t bother lighting any of the lamps.  In the bedroom, she dropped her coat on the bed and sat in front of her dresser, hiding the veela’s feather under capris pants and faded sweatshirts. She bent her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, trying to think through what she’d just done.

The choice she’d just made.

When she was faced with a problem, that was what she did. She thought through it.  Let logic dictate her actions.

Only this…this decision hadn’t involved her mind at all. She was left sitting on her floor in the dark, sore but with the dim echo of bliss still sounding inside her, twisting her engagement ring around and around her finger, getting nowhere.


	9. Shopping

Hermione did not feel like a princess.

She was swathed in yards and yards of white satin and tulle, seed pearls and lace. The witch who ran the bridal boutique was in a tizzy. There were at least three different needles flashing in and out on their own, sewing Hermione’s wedding dress as she stood there.

“It’s amazing,” Ginny said from where she was sitting slumped on a bench. She had a bag of some kind of roasted nuts in her hand and was munching on them while the boutique’s owner shot her death glares that Ginny was completely ignoring. “You look like a girl out of one of those books you’re always reading.”

Hermione managed not to flinch and even worked her lips into a semblance of a smile because whatever she looked like, it didn’t reflect her insides at all. She was a mess.

Her veela had found her, and she’d…she’d saved his life, that’s what she’d done, and maybe she’d never see him again.

Never feel like that again.

Never taste or touch him again.

“Are you doing okay?” Ginny asked. “You look like you’re going to cry.”

“No crying!” the owner said. “It will mess up the silk.”

Hermione sighed. “I’m not going to cry. I just can’t believe this is all really happening.”

The owner shot Ginny another look as Ginny loudly munched a handful of nuts. It wasn’t like the owner was going to kick either of them out. Hermione had helped save the world, after all, and Ginny was Hermione’s friend, Ron’s sister, and Harry’s girlfriend. Nobody was going to risk upsetting all three of the golden trio.

“I know!” Ginny said. “You’re going to be my sister!” She paused. “But I think it’s okay to feel weird about getting married. It’s a big change.”

“What if I’m not good at it?”

“Hermione, you’re good at everything.” Ginny sounded very sure of that, even if Hermione was feeling less than confident.

She wished she could tell Ginny everything about the veela. Or at least that he existed. Hermione turned as the shop’s owner indicated, glad to be facing away from Ginny.

Did the veela think of her? In the books, they mated for life, but details on real veelas was a lot more difficult to come by. Did he not want her, after touching her? Maybe she hadn’t been adequate as a lover. It’s not like Ron ever complained, but him, some snogging and groping with Krum, and now once against the dirty wall of an alley with a veela was the total of her experience. What if he’d expected more and found her lacking?

She’d never doubted herself like this. If only she knew who the veela was and they could sit down and talk. But he hadn’t wanted her to see his face. What if he hated her?

“Oh,” Hermione blinked rapidly. “Uh, never-nevermind, I think I am going to cry.”

The shop’s owner sighed but flicked her wand and the wedding dress disappeared from Hermione’s body and reappeared on a mannequin that was off to one side. Hermione’s street clothes had rematerialized at the same time, and she quickly stepped down from the dais where she’d been standing.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

The shop’s owner put her arm around Hermione’s shoulder. “Not worry, love, every bride gets cold feet, but you’re going to have a lovely day, and you’re marrying one of your best mates. It’ll all work out, you’ll see.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said quietly.

Ginny stood and linked her arm with Hermione’s as they left the shop.

“There’s one more fitting next week,” Hermione said, taking a few of the nuts when Ginny offered her the bag and shoving them into her mouth. They tasted wonderful, but she couldn’t identify them. “What are these?”

“You don’t want to know.”

She probably didn’t.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Hermione said.

“No problem, hey do you have shoes yet?”

“No, not everyone is as fashion-conscious as some.” Hermione looked up and down Diagon Alley. There had to be a shoe store here somewhere.

Ginny steered her towards a place that looked promising. Inside the place was teeming with more shoes than Hermione could believe, many of them moving on their own.

“Wedding shoes,” Ginny shouted at the footwear that was mobbing them. Most of the shoes retreated, except for one lone trainer that limped after them as they worked their way to the rear of the shop, where delicate looking white slip-ons were prancing.

Hermione sat down and grabbed a pair of plain white satin ones with a kitten heel. “Ginny, can I ask you a question?” she said as she tried on the shoes, quickly taking them back off because they seemed too fancy and the heel was a bit much.

Ginny was sitting cross-legged on the floor. The bag of nuts had disappeared, and she was inspecting a row of shoes that’d lined up in front of her. “Of course.”

“Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

Ginny looked up at her but didn’t answer immediately. “Do you think you’re doing the right thing?”

“I don’t know.” Hermione looked down at the shoes as they trotted past. “I think so. I know what I want out of life. A job as a healer, a home, someone to love, children.”

Ginny snorted. “Don’t let Ron hear you say that last one.”

Hermione frowned. She’d talked about having a family with Ron. He’d smiled and said that of course they would. Had she misunderstood? “Erm, why’s that?”

“We grew up with a ton of siblings. I think he likes it being just you and him. He’s told me he might want a son or daughter someday, but he’s busy with his new job now, and that someday is very far away.”

“Oh,” Hermione said. Something in her chest hurt. She’d been imagining starting in the next few years. Not right at the moment, her training was too intense, and she had a very effective charm in place to prevent pregnancy, but…she sighed. She should have known Ron wouldn’t be keen to have little kids underfoot immediately.

What would her veela want? Weren’t they supposed to be about home and hearth? Was that all a more romantic drivel? Her stomach roiled with the fact that he might already have a wife, or even have started a family. The veela part of him could have shown itself late, and maybe he was as taken as she was.

Her fingers curled into fists, and her nails dug into her palms.

“What about these?” Ginny said, holding out a pair of ballet flats with a touch of lace.

Hermione took them and tried them on, turning her feet to the side to see if she liked them. They were comfortable enough.

“Look,” Ginny said. “I know you’re worried because you’re young and this is a big commitment but isn’t it one you’ve already made? You, Ron, and Harry have been friends forever. You know each other backwards and forwards. Who better to marry? And I like you, and our mum likes you. It’s all easy and normal, right?”

“Right.”  

Why, why, why had the veela crashed into her life right now? She was safe, and she was marrying one of her best friends. It should all be completely conflict free.

Instead, she wanted to run back to the dark of the alley, craved the dangerous bliss her veela had given her. Wanted to be wrapped in his wings again.

With a huff, Hermione kicked off the ballet flats, which scuttled under the bench, and grabbed the satin kitten heels she’d first tried on. She’d probably break her ankle in them, but they were the ones she liked.

“Can we stop at the bookstore?” Hermione asked as she made her way towards the counter. Ginny was exclaiming over her choice of wedding slipper.

“It wouldn’t be you if we didn’t! And I love your shoes, so not the ones I thought you’d pick.”

“I like them,” Hermione said. “And I think there’s a new veela romance by my favorite author. I can have a glass of wine and relax with it tonight until Ron gets home.”

“Exciting! You’ll have to tell me the plot.”

Hermione was hoping for everything she hadn’t gotten with her own veela, like being wooed with candlelit dinners, and hopefully, there’d be a lot about the wings. Those had been featuring in her fantasies more than she wanted to admit. She’d love to have a chance to touch and her own veela’s back, feel the muscles play as he—

“Earth to Hermione!” Ginny said, waving a hand in front of Hermione’s face. “I’ve got to tell Ron he needs to spend more time at home if you know what I mean.”

“You will not,” Hermione mumbled, feeling her face flush.

Ginny laughed, and after a moment Hermione joined in.

“Thanks again for being such a good friend,” Hermione said as she handed over the coins for her shoes.

“What would you do without me?”

Hermione didn’t have an answer for that.


	10. Novel

The late afternoon sun was shining in through the open windows of Hermione’s flat. It felt like days since she’d seen any natural light, as her shifts at St. Mungo’s had been running late. She’d even missed Friday night at the pub.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Ron asked for the tenth time. He was going along with Harry, Ginny, and a few of their coworkers to watch a production of _We Were Once Voyagers_ which supposedly featured a real dragon. Initially, she’d been planning to attend, but after three nights of getting home sometime later than two in the morning, Hermione had found the idea of a loud theater packed with people more than she could take, so she’d bowed out.

“I’ll be fine,” she told Ron, giving him a peck on the cheek. “And you can tell me all about it later.”

“Do you want me to stay home?” he asked, putting an arm around her.

Hermione shook her head. “You’ve talked about nothing else for a week. Go, have fun, I’ll be just fine, and we’re all going to spend next weekend together for the rehearsal.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

Ron pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Thanks, Mione.”

He left to go meet up with the others, and Hermione closed the door with a sigh, staring at it until she was sure he wasn’t going to nip back in for something he’d forgotten. Hurrying into the bedroom, she opened the bottom drawer of the dresser, pushed a few old robes aside, and pulled out the veela romance novel she was reading. Her place was marked with the feather from her veela.

The book itself was not too bad, but it made her sad because she hadn’t seen her own veela in…far too long. Which was just fine, she reminded herself. She’d done a bad thing, but it was to save the veela’s life, and no one else ever had to know. Hermione stroked the feather down her face and sighed.

She sat on the couch, then toppled over to the side. Everything was going to be fine. She was going to get married, and it would all be fine. An hour or two of indulging in her fantasies by reading a steamy romance wouldn’t hurt anything.

Hermione dropped the veela feather on her stomach as she read. After several—too many—chapters of misunderstandings, the main characters finally got together.

_His back rippled as his powerful wings spread out above her, and she gasped as his turgid—_

Hermione snorted, but then glanced at the open windows. The sun had set, and the night air was rich and damp. She pushed her hair back from her face and pressed her palm to her cheek. It was still hours until Ron would return.

Biting her lip and not feeling as guilty as she should, she slid her hand down over her breast, caressed the feather on her stomach with her fingertips, then undid the button and zip of her trousers. She pushed her hand inside her knickers and rubbed little circles, already aroused from the book and the memory of being with her veela.

Her eyes closed, and she moaned as she rubbed harder.

There was a scuffling noise from the direction of the window. Hermione ignored it, too lost in what she was doing, until the thud of feet hitting the floor made her yelp.

Hermione opened her eyes to find her veela, his head cocked to the side and his wings neatly folded, staring at her.

Bloody open window.

“Er, hi,” she said, glancing to where her hand was down her pants. She slowly pulled it out, and the veela let out a strangled sounding chip. His chest was heaving.

He crossed the room and snatched her book from her other hand before she could do something sensible, like hide it under a cushion. He held it up, his huge grey eyes widening even further, then let out a cawing laugh.

Hermione’s cheeks heated up.

The veela tossed the book over his shoulder.

“Hey,” she said, starting to sit up. “That’s not how you treat a book!” The veela snorted and ran a hand down his bare chest. “Oh, so you’re so much better?”

He somehow, despite the beak, managed to look smug.

Hermione knew she should kick him out. They were in her flat, where she lived with her fiancé, but her entire body was swamped with heat. Her heart was beating wildly, and her blood was rushing in her ears.

Would it always be like this? Her veela would appear, and she’d be unable to do anything but want him? That didn’t seem fair.

Not that she cared about words like fair, or right, or even wrong at the moment.

Hermione sagged back against the couch, her eyes flicking down to the front of the veela’s jeans, which showed he was as affected as she was. “Okay,” she whispered.

The veela needed no further encouragement. He bent over, moved her purloined feather to the back of the couch, and grasped the hem of her shirt. He yanked it over her head, momentarily getting it stuck before pulling it all the way off. She knew her hair had to be wild after that, but the veela didn’t seem to mind. He swept a hand through her locks, pulling gently and making a fond little whine.

She wanted to laugh. That veela-mate magic had to be powerful stuff if he even liked her unruly hair.

Next, his hands went to her trousers, pulling them and her knickers down and off her legs. She felt shy, being completely naked in front of him, but he looked so pleased that she managed not to cover herself with her hands.

The veela stood and unceremoniously dropped his own trousers and pants. He seemed completely unworried that she might not find him pleasing as she drank him in.

And really, he had nothing to worry about. Not at all. She licked her lips.

The reasonable side of her knew she should feel guilty about doing this, but it was impossible for her to feel that way with her veela standing in front of her. Not with how desire was suffusing her every cell and nerve. She and her veela had been made for each other. Fate had set them in each other’s path. There was no fighting this.

A tiny voice complained that she wasn’t even trying, but it shut up as the veela knelt over her on the couch, the springs creaking in protest.

He cupped her breasts, thumbing her nipples as she moaned. His long fingers were hot against her, and she arched her back, pushing forward into his touch.

The veela seemed delighted with her breasts, outlining them with his fingertips and plucking at the nipples. His touch was sending hot bolts of pure lust to her core, and she with writhing on the couch, growing desperate for more.

Finally, it got to be too much. She couldn’t wait. Hermione surged forward and wrapped her arm around the veela’s neck, pulling him down. Turning her head, she kissed and mouthed his pale shoulder, and he shuddered.

His had fumbled between them, aligning his cock with her opening, and he thrust forward. She gasped, the sheer pleasure of him being inside her soothing something in her heart. Yes, of course, she was always meant to be joined with him. Her hands trailed over his ribs and up his spine, until, at last, the encountered the powerful muscles of his wings.

Her hips lifted, and she moaned as her palms pressed against his back.

The veela answered in kind, and his wings snapped up and out, trembling slightly as she explored their base with her fingers. He chirped, tilting his head to better fix her with a questioning eye.

“Yes,” she said, her voice breathless. “Yes, I like them very much.”

The veela ducked his head and looked almost shy. He fluttered his wings as he began to thrust with his hips, and Hermione had to cling to him with her arms as her legs fell further open.

This was much, much better than against a wall in a dirty alley.

Though the quickly escalating ecstasy was the same now as then. She buried her face against his neck, despite how the feathers tickled her nose, to muffle her escalating moans and gasps. The couch’s springs were rhythmically squealing, announcing each sharp thrust.

She should probably be embarrassed, or grab her wand and cast a charm to stop the noise, but that would require moving, and there was no way she could do anything besides lift her hips to meet the veela’s plunges.  

Her body coiled tighter, her breathing became ragged, then stopped for a few seconds before she came. She bucked beneath the veela, her hands grasping the base of his wings. Fireworks erupted behind her eyelids.

The veela slowed his pace as she came back down to earth, and he put all his weight on one arm to move his other hand and stroke her face. She opened her eyes, looking dazedly up at him.

He snorted slightly. It took Hermione a few moments to figure it out.

“Shh,” she said, running her palms up and down his back. “I’m here with you. There’s only us in this room right now.”

The veela nodded, and his thrusts became harder and faster.

She kept her eyes on him as he raced towards his climax, finally coming with a harsh grunt and few last jerks of his hips. When he was done, he sat up and gathered her against his chest, holding her tight.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” she told him as he looked towards the windows.

He chirped pitifully.

“I won’t be here next weekend. We’re all going to the seaside, the Mar y Sol hotel down south. It a big rehearsal for the wedding, which will take place at…” she trailed off. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t even know if I’ll see you again. Or if I should see you again. I don’t even know your name.”

The veela, his wide eyes sad, gently pushed her back onto the couch cushions, and Hermione winced at the sticky feeling between her legs. He went to his trousers and tugged them on, watching her forlornly as she pulled her shirt back on. He hooked his finger into his pocket and pulled something out.

He peered at it for a moment, then gestured her over.

The veela took her hand, pressed the object into her palm and closed her fingers around it, then he spun and headed for the windows, leaping gracefully through one and spreading his wings to catch the night breeze. He was out of sight in seconds.

Hermione held up her hand and opened her fist. A gold ring with a bird in flight on it, cleverly crafted out of diamond with onyx eyes, was resting on her palm.

She covered her mouth with her other hand.

No.

Gathering up the veela feather and the book he’d tossed, she hurried back to her bedroom. She dropped the ring into the very bottom of her jewelry box, hiding it under several tangled chains and slamming the lid shut.

A ring was a promise, but she already had already made one to someone else.

Shaking, she hid the feather and book back under the old clothes. She didn’t bother trying to find her place in the novel before shutting the drawer.

It no longer mattered.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A giant thank you to everyone reading this. I'm very aware I'm not "in" the fandom, so I appreciate every like and kudos all that much more! (and they do feed the muse) If you have a fic you think I'd like, drop a link in the comments and I'll try to check it out!


	11. Dancing

The Mar-y-Sol hotel was beautiful beyond belief. Hermione was aware that she, Ron, and Harry were being used for advertising, but when they were getting to stay somewhere so amazing for free, it was hard to complain.

The wedding was at the Burrow the following week, which had disappointed many venues who’d wanted to boast that they’d hosted the event, but the Mar-y-Sol and graciously offered Ron and Hermione a weekend stay, along with their friends and family, for a rehearsal dinner and party.

Hermione suspected she’d be enjoying herself a great deal more if her veela didn’t exist and all those memories of him—and what she’d done with him—didn’t come flooding back at inopportune times.

At the moment, she and Ginny were in their lusciously appointed room. There lamps that looked like glowing starfish, and windows that opened towards the ocean. There was a spell that meant they could always hear the waves and everything smelled salty and clean. A perfect sea breeze was always blowing.

Ginny was pinning, and charming, Hermione’s hair into an obedient twist for that night’s dance.

The actual rehearsal had already occurred. Harry had walked her down the aisle—it made her miss her parents so much—to a nervous looking Ron, who’d continuously forgotten where he was supposed to stand. It would have been hilarious if it wasn’t their wedding they’d been practicing for.  

Ginny, standing behind Hermione, was a taking her maid of honor role seriously and doing her best to take care of Hermione make sure everything went according to plan.

She stuck a last pin in Hermione’s updo. “You ready?”

“I think so.” Hermione stood and slid her hands down the front of her pale pink gown. It had spaghetti straps and fell to her ankles. Her shoes were her wedding ones. She was breaking them in so that she wouldn’t fall on her big day.

Ginny was in a shorter, sky blue dress, the skirt pleated and with a tendency to swing. It appeared much more fun than her sedate gown.

“You look amazing, Ginny,” Hermione said.

“You look like a princess.” Ginny frowned. “A princess with mostly in place hair.”

“It’s as close to being done as it’s going to get.” Hermione sighed. A few loose curls around her face wouldn’t be too bad.

She linked arms with Ginny as they headed towards the staircase.

The hotel’s idea of a dance was really more of a ball. It wasn’t exactly in her and Ron’s honor, but it might as well be. The hotel was packed with people that wanted to see and be seen. She doubted most of them cared about her, or Ron, or even Harry. It was simply the event of the season.

In the ballroom a band was playing. The instruments all appeared as if they were made of shells, seaweed, and driftwood. There was water rushing in waves up the walls of the huge room, carrying along with it some very surprised looking fish.

It was mesmerizing.

Couples swirled on the dance floor, and people were clumped together around small tables, drinking things that looked like seafoam, but which hopefully tasted better.

Ginny and Hermione pressed through the crowd until they saw Harry and Ron waving at them.

“Can you believe this place?” Ron said, staring around wide-eyed at the spectacle.

Hermione shook her head as Ginny left her side to stand by Harry, who put an arm around her. “Shall we dance?” he asked, trailing a finger over the blue strap of Ginny’s dress.

“That’d be wonderful,” Ginny said, taking his hand and pulling him into the crush on the dance floor.

“Um, how about you?” Ron shifted nervously from foot to foot as he made a face.

 Hermione smiled and shook her head. “I don’t think so. Have you had one of the seafoam drinks yet?”

Ron immediately looked relieved. “Let’s try them!” He took her hand and pulled her towards a refreshment stand. Giggling, they drank the seafoam, which tasted like peaches, and ate finger food that looked and felt like sand dollars but tasted like chocolate. There were even little crabs, made from carved fruit, which scuttled around the plate until you grabbed and ate them.

They laughed and clinked glasses. It was like old times, and Hermione felt like she’d been missing this side of Ron, who he seemed to keep hidden now that they were getting married. It was as if being husband and wife meant the couldn’t be friends in the same way anymore. Maybe after the stress of the wedding was over he’d come around?

When the crowd became too much for Hermione, she sent Ron to find Harry and Ginny and headed outside to a balcony that overlooked the sea. The actual ocean breeze was chilly, which meant few guests were out there. Hermione was grateful. She wrapped her arms around herself and tipped her head back, enjoying the dark and still of the night.

The opening strains of a waltz floated out of the ballroom.

“Can I have this dance?”

Hermione’s eyes flew open. “Malfoy?”

Oh, brilliant, just who she wanted to see. He was dressed in a slightly rumpled suit with his tie hanging undone around his neck. At least he looked sober. She bit her lip. Last time she’d seen him he’d pawed at her and tried to snog her.

Maybe he didn’t remember.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

He shrugged. “My mom wanted to see the ocean. Meant I had to come along.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “Okay.”

“Can I have this dance?” he said again, holding his hand out to her.

She should just brush past him and ignore how strange he was acting, but he looked tense. His mum must be really ill. Draco was pale, and his hair was mussed like he’d been running his hands through it. “Sure.” It was odd, but Hermione could be the bigger person and not be rude.

His eyes swept up and down her, and she was surprised he didn’t say anything about her dress not being specially tailored, or last season’s fashion, or some other such infuriating remark. At least he didn’t accuse her of being a prude this time.

Instead, Draco took her hands and ran his thumbs over her fingers, right above her knuckles. She thought for a second she saw a flicker of disappointment on his face, but it was nearly immediately replaced by a sneer as he held her stiffly in traditional waltz position.  They moved slowly.

It wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Draco was more graceful than Hermione remembered.

“Are you still marrying Weasley?” Draco asked, sounding bored.

“Guess so,” she replied.

Draco was studying her face. “You shouldn’t do it.”

“What? Why ever not?”

“He’s not right for you.”

“He’s one of my best friends.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Sure. Everyone knows that.” He leaned towards her. “But does he do it for you? Make you pant and moan?”

Hermione pushed back from him, and he dropped his hands. His sneer turned to a scowl.

“Why do you have to be so disgusting?” she snapped. “I’m here to celebrate my marriage. I don’t know why you had to come along and…and…have an opinion!”

One of Draco’s eyebrows raised. “That the best you can do, Mudblood?”

“Would you quit? That word lost any power over me long ago. I was trying to be polite, but now I’m simply finished with you.”

She turned, but Draco darted around to stand in front of her. His chest was heaving. He cupped her cheek, and for a second there was something familiar about his touch, in how his fingers felt against her, and she turned into his palm.

Then her senses returned, and she grabbed his wrist and yanked his hand away.

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed.

Draco’s head tilted to the side.

It wasn’t fair, how pretty he was. Hermione hated him, but he was still gorgeous. She’d have to be dead not to notice.

His eyes were sad. “Don’t, Hermione. Don’t marry him. You’ll regret it.”

“Shove it, Malfoy,” she snapped and brushed past him. She was to close, and his hand brushed over her hip. An electric spark shot up her spine. She gasped before hurrying faster into an empty rear corridor of the hotel. She didn’t look back.

In a shadowed corner of the hallway, she leaned her shoulder against the wall and caught her breath. Her fingers went to her the front of her dress, feeling what was pinned there over her heart.

The ring from her veela. The shape of it was a comfort. She focused on that. Not Draco and his too astute eyes, nor Ron and his easy smile that was hardly ever for her anymore.

Even when her breathing slowed, her chest still felt tight.

She hated Draco more than she ever had at that moment because a tiny part of her was afraid that he might be right. That she might be making a mistake. She wished everyone wasn’t counting on her to do the expected. Logic said she should continue to make those around her happy, and that in time she’d be happy with her decision too.

Hermione closed her eyes and slumped against the wall.

She kept her fingers pressed against the ring. It was the only thing keeping her anchored.


	12. Lightning

Lightning lit up the hotel room, and Hermione counted, waiting for the thunder until she remembered that there would be a spell to dampen the crash. The management wouldn’t want their guests to be bothered by an early summer storm.

Only, she was awake, with a nagging feeling lodged under her breastbone.

Sitting up, Hermione looked around the room. Ginny was curled up in the room’s other bed, her eyes closed and a peaceful look on her sleeping face. Everything else looked the same as when Hermione had fallen asleep, but she simply knew something was…not wrong, but more like she wasn’t in the right place.

She rubbed at her chest as the ache grew. It was as if a string was tugging on her heart.

The veela. The thought came to Hermione with perfect clarity. Her mate was here, and he was calling for her.

Now that she knew what the longing was, there was no denying it. Hermione slid out of bed and pulled her bathrobe from the end of the bed. It was fluffy and pink, but all she had on to sleep in was a long, white shirt that barely came to mid-thigh.

There was a harder tug on the connection. “I’m coming,” she grumbled under her breath. What was he even doing here? She was going to have to make it clear that she had her life, her job, her soon-to-be husband, and her friends, and the veela was simply something extra. He couldn’t be bothering her endlessly.

Unfortunately, her resolve wasn’t doing well as she slipped out of her room, closed the door as quietly as possible, and padded on bare feet down the hallway to the staircase. Heat was gathering in her belly as she descended towards the hotel’s entrance.

Luckily for her, there was no one at the front desk as she walked by. Outside, she paused under the awning.

It was pouring, the rain a cold deluge. The ocean was a churning mass of whitecaps, the bigger waves crashing over the stone fences that bordered the edge of the hotel’s property.

The ache in her chest was becoming more insistent. Hermione closed her eyes and slowly turned until she could pinpoint where it was coming from. It was to the side of the building, where there was a garden of sorts, with trimmed hedges and rose bushes. The pavement was smooth under her feet as she walked quickly towards her veela’s call. Lightning flashed, and she could see the statue of a man astride a rearing horse that marked the center of the garden. Without magic to muffle it, the boom of the thunder that followed a second later was deafening loud.

She reached for her wand to warm herself but came up empty. She’d left if back in her room. Merlin’s beard, the veela better have a point to bringing her out here during the night in the middle of the storm.

The damp grass of the garden was soft, but Hermione had to plod through a large puddle that left her feet muddy as she made her way past the outer ring of square-cornered hedges.

The outside lights of the hotel were partially blocked once she was past the first row of hedges, and she was looking at her toes as she walked, trying not to step on anything when she ran into someone.

Her head snapped up, and she pushed her rain-soaked hair back from her face.

Malfoy was standing there, looking like a drowned rat. Terrific. “What the hell do you want?” she asked, crossing her arms and hoping he wouldn’t start questioning her as to why she was wearing a bathrobe in a garden during a storm. She tried to peer around him. Her veela was close, she knew from the way the ache in her chest had lessened, and she didn’t have the time or patience to deal with Malfoy.

“Hermione,” he said, voice ragged. He was still dressed the same as earlier, black pants and a white shirt, though now both were waterlogged and sticking to him.

“What?” she asked again, annoyed. Where was her veela?

“Don’t be like this,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m bloody sorry, alright? For every stupid, childish insult I hurled at you. I didn’t know. I didn’t know so much.”

She looked up at him as lightning streaked across the sky. His face was pained, and she sighed. “Fine. You’re forgiven. I don’t have the energy to be mad at you any longer.”

Malfoy grasped her upper arms. “No, you don’t…for all of it. The stuff after. What my family did.” Another flash of light showed that his eyes were pleading and his mouth drawn into a grimace. She thought he might be crying, but it was impossible to tell in the rain.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive quite all of that.” Dark memories crept into the corner of her mind, and she shivered for reasons that had nothing to do with the cold water dripping down her back. “But if you need it, fine, you I forgive.” It didn’t matter much to her one way or the other, but obviously it did to him.

The wind howled and shook the stems of a nearby rose bush. Even with the flowers closed for the night, it ripped the white petals lose and sent them flying around her and Malfoy.

He dropped to his knees in front of her. “I can’t fight it,” he rasped. “And I stopped wanting to.”

Hermione covered her mouth with a hand as Draco’s fingers went to the buttons of his shirt. Lightning flashed from cloud to cloud, throwing him into stark relief as he pulled them free, one by one, revealing a chest she was very familiar with.

Oh no.

No.

Shirt freed, Draco stripped it from his arms, and the wind carried it away. He bowed his head.

“I know you don’t want me like this,” he said, voice barely audible over the raging storm. “Not the man.” He looked up at her. “You’re remarkable, Hermione. I’ve always thought so. Even when I believed I hated you. Can’t hate you now, but I wouldn’t want to anyway. You’re all I think about. I’m going barmy with it, but I know you don’t want me.” His eyes went to the ground again. “But I can give you what you do want.”

She was crying now as Draco hunched forward and cried out as a pair of wings, snowy feathered with the edges inky black, ripped from his back.

Her veela.

She should have known. How hadn’t she known?

Magic raced over his shoulders and up his neck, leaving him with the great black beak and huge eyes she knew so well. That she’d come out here in the wind, rain, and dark to find.

Draco, her veela, stood his hands open wide.

She hated him. She wanted him.

This was it. A choice. There was no going back. Hermione could turn around, leave Draco there, maybe wake up Ron and asking him to hold her, safe and warm in a nice, dry room. Or she could stay amid the maelstrom and let her heart soar free into an unknown and unimaginable future.

Draco tilted his head, waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm multiple chapters ahead on this fic now, with the plan being to tie it up ASAP. *rolls eyes at self* Thank you for your patience!


	13. Thunder

Hermione could hardly breathe. Her stomach was filled with butterflies, her chest was filled with dread, and her belly was filled with something rich and molten.

Her life was forking like the lightning overhead.

But she’d already made this choice, hadn’t she? Did it matter that the human face of her veela was one couldn’t have imagined?

She met Draco’s steely gaze. “If you’re with me…you’ll be giving up more than I will, won’t you?” He nodded once, sharply. There was no way his family would ever condone a relationship between them, not when, in their eyes, she was worth less than the dirt under their feet. Draco would most likely be disinherited. He’d lose everything that had once defined him. “And you’d do that for me? Instead of trying to hide…this?” She waved a hand between them.

He nodded again and pulled his shoulders back.

She looked down to where little streams of water were running around their feet to feed the ever-growing puddles. Her hands went to the sash of her bathrobe. “Then how can I give any less?”

The knot holding her robe closed undid easily, and she let it fall to the ground. Her nightgown was already soaked, the chilly fabric clinging to her hips and breasts. She stepped forward, and Draco wound his arms around her, and his wings stretched over her head, sheltering her.

He trilled a soft call as she put her hands on his cheeks.

“And for the record, yes, I got to know you like this. My veela. My mate.” Draco’s eye’s slid closed, and a shudder passed through him. Hermione smiled as she continued petting his feathered face. “But I think I’d very much like to get to know the man you are as well. I don’t think I know him at all.”

Draco keened softly.

“I suppose you can’t change back now, can you?” she asked.

He gave her a rueful look.

“We’ll simply have to make do, but next time I want to talk.”

He squawked an assent, then made her gasp as he whirled her around and backed her towards a nearby bench. It was a flat, stone affair that promised to be completely uncomfortable, but she didn’t care.

Wait, her robe. She broke free of Draco’s arms, rushing to her robe and picking it up. His wings fluttered in a way she could only describe as exasperated until she took the robe to the bench and laid it out. She held up her hand as Draco strode to stand beside her.

“I’m not going to marry him,” she said, pulling off her engagement ring and stuffing it in the pocket of her robe. “He’s my friend, well, maybe not once I hand this back, but that’s how I’m going to think of him. And I love him—” She pushed at Draco’s chest as he huffed “—I love him as a friend. Neither of us should have imagined it was something more. I think I might have messed things up between us now for forever.” She sighed, and Draco cupped her cheek, his eyes concerned, and maybe a little smug. “Oh, this will be better when you can kiss me.”

With an inelegant snort, he flapped his wings once and, somehow, she ended up on her back on the bench with a determined veela between her thighs. Hermione pressed kisses to his chest as he cupped her breasts through her shirt, driving her need higher. She wrapped her legs around his waist and bucked against him.

His hands left her and went to the front of his trousers, then paused.

“Oh, yes, bloody yes. Right about now would be good.” The end of her words was drowned out by a sharp crack of thunder, but he must have understood because he made short work of his fly. He surged inside her, and she moaned as she reached up to sink her hands into the feathers of his wings.

She was home.

Pleasure built steadily inside her, but this time she had a name to call out as she peaked. Thunder drowned out her shout, but from the way Draco’s wings snapped and the tenderness with which he touched her face, he knew.

With a wild cry, he picked her up so her legs were splayed on either side of his thighs as he rushed towards his climax, his wings spread wide and his head thrown back. The rain was still gushing down, the sea roaring, and the wind sending white rose petals to pelt them, but it was no longer frightening. She was the storm.

Another orgasm crashed through her as she clutched Draco’s shoulders, and he moved harder, faster. A piercing, wild cry left his throat as he joined her in bliss.

His wings closed around her again as he held her for long moments after while they caught their breath.

Hermione’s mind snapped to all the things she would need to do. Things she should have done the first time she’d welcomed her veela into her body.

“I have to go. In the morning I’ll have the breakup conversation, and then I’ll head home.” She sighed, and Draco rubbed her back. He cocked his head and twittered. “I’ll be okay,” she said, reassuring herself as much as him. They separated he fastened his trousers while she pulled on her bathrobe. It was heavy with all the rain that’d soaked into it.

There was a noise from the entrance to the garden and they both whipped around to look. Draco let out a sharp squawk of warning. With the next flash of now more distant lightning, Hermione’s stomach sank. It was Ron, soaked and looking poleaxed.

“I guess I’m not waiting for the morning,” Hermione said, putting a hand on Draco’s chest. “Go. I’ll deal with him, and I’ll see you soon.”

He nodded, and there was a burst of wind as he exploded into action. In seconds he’d disappeared into the night, though she didn’t think he’d gone far. Maybe she’d always be able to sense him now. She thought he was perched somewhere on the side of the hotel, and she glanced towards where she could feel him waiting.

“Hermione?” Ron said, sounding lost, and she tried to smile as she returned her gaze to his face. He was wet and pale, clutching his wand in one hand. A weak light was glowing at the tip.

“Hey. What’re you doing out so late?”

“I…uh…Ginny woke up, and you were gone, so I said I’d go and find you.”

“Oh.” There were several moments of silence. Ron was staring at her, his mouth hanging open. “Um.” She paused and grasped the hems of her robe’s sleeves. “What did you see?”

“Enough,” he said, pain in his voice. She supposed he hadn’t arrived in time to see who the veela was, or she’d be getting an earful about it.

“I’m sorry.” She felt around in her pocket and took the engagement ring out. “I was pretending everything was going to be fine. That I wouldn’t hurt one of my best friends.”

Ron’s face crumpled.

“We should have treasured what we had,” Hermione continued before she lost her courage. “Not done what was expected of us. I’m a veela’s mate, Ron. I didn’t ask for that, but I didn’t try to stop it either. And I felt like I was going through this huge thing and I couldn’t talk to you, or Harry, or Ginny…because then you’d all hate me. Only now I’ve made it worse.” She picked up his hand, put the ring on his palm, and closed his fingers around it. “Apologize to everyone for me. Maybe later, we can still be friends. All of us.”

“Mione,” he said. Then his shoulders slumped. “Okay. I’ll stay with Harry for a bit.”

“Come and get your things while I’m at work.” It felt surreal. Shouldn’t there be yelling and screaming? Should Ron be making impassioned pleas, or simply doing anything besides letting her walk away?

But he didn’t. He just looked at the ring he was holding as she returned to the hotel.

In her room, Hermione quickly grabbed her wand and dried herself off.

Ginny wasn’t there. She must be with Harry in his room. It was better not to have to explain. Hermione quickly packed her bag. She took the ring her veela…that Draco had given her. She held it in front of her eyes for a long time before sliding it into place on the fourth finger of her left hand.

She’d made her choice.

The ring fit perfectly.

With a wave of her wand, Hermione apparated back to her flat. She made it to the sofa before she started crying.


	14. Wedding Day

Hermione had her hair tied up and was chasing dust bunnies from under the sofa when there was a knock on her door.

She straightened up and glanced at her wide-open windows.

It’d been most of a week since she’d shattered apart her life, and here she was on a June morning cleaning instead of getting married.

Draco hadn’t shown yet, but she wasn’t entirely surprised. He was struggling with things himself, or he might be waiting for her to make the next move. Probably both. Ron had collected his things one night and hadn’t left a note, which wasn’t a shock.

She wouldn’t be in a note-leaving place with herself either.

The knock came again and, wand in hand, she opened the door after trying to straighten her dress and hair.

There was a tiny stab of disappointment when it wasn’t her veela on the other side, but Ginny. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and she was scowling. She marched into the flat and stood in the middle of the living room arms crossed.

“Hi,” Hermione said, perching on the edge of the sofa. She stuffed the veela romance novel she’d been reading over tea that morning under the latest copy of the Prophet. This one was much better about the wings, but she was certain Ginny wouldn’t appreciate a review.

Ginny finally sighed. “Hermione, what the hell happened?”

“I was a first-class moron,” Hermione said. “I can list thousands of different uses for hundreds of kinds of medicinal plants, but I couldn’t figure out that falling into the arms of a veela without a peep might be a sign I wasn’t marrying the right person.”

Ginny made a face and sat down on the other end of the sofa. “So you really were…uh, doing…the…”

“I’ve been having sex with a veela. I’m his mate.” She curled her hands into fists. “And I consider myself his.”

“Oh.” There was a lot of emotion in that syllable.

“I’m sorry I hurt everybody.”

Ginny shrugged. “Ron’s more confused than anything. I…I don’t know. Maybe you weren’t so wrong with the not getting married thing. He’s not punching walls or screaming at the universe. He and Harry went out and got completely pissed and came home singing at their top of their lungs, but besides that, it’s not been too rough.” She turned her face towards Hermione. “How about you?”

“I’m okay,” she said. “I’m cleaning since I still had all that time off work for the wedding. Are your parents very mad?”

“They weren’t thrilled to have to cancel on everyone, and a few family members came anyway just to visit, but no one’s cursing your name or anything. Everyone’s just puzzled how this happened, and no one knew about it.”

Hermione put her wand on the coffee table and pulled her knees up, looping her arms around them. “I didn’t think I could talk to anyone about how…how there was this creature, in the dark, and that I wanted to…be with him. That he was calling to something deep inside me. A part of myself I didn’t even know existed.”  Ginny nodded and picked at lint on the couch. “How mad are you at me?” Hermione asked.

“I think I’m more disappointed,” Ginny said after a minute, holding up a hand when Hermione started to speak. “And I’m struggling to understand. And I miss my friend.”

“I miss you too,” Hermione said. Ginny scooted down the couch, but Hermione stood, needing to confess everything before accepting a friend hug. “There’s more to this story. And once you, and Ron, and Harry know it, you’re not going to want to see me ever, ever again.”

Ginny blew out a breath. “I’m trying to forgive you for being a ninny and practically leaving my brother at the altar, and you’re not going to let me?”

“Well, I really appreciate you for forgiving me.” Hermione put her hands on her hips. “A lot. I’ve been lonely. And I’m thankful for you coming here. But I’m done with secrets.”

“What terrible secret do you have now?” Ginny stood as well, frowning as she crossed her arms.

“I know who my veela is.”

Ginny’s eyebrows raised. “And who is he?”

Hermione dropped her head into her hands. “He’sDracoMalfoy,” she said in a garbled rush.

“What?” Ginny put a hand on Hermione’s wrist and gently pulled her hand away from her face.

She took a deep breath. “My veela is Draco Malfoy.”

Ginny’s hand dropped to her side, she looked shocked, and then, to Hermione’s complete surprise, she started laughing. Ginny clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the giggle, which didn’t work, and she hurried to the couch where she dropped down and curled up as she continued to laugh. After a moment she had to wipe tears from her eyes.

“It’s not that funny,” Hermione grumbled.

“Oh no, it totally is. You read all those novels about being swept off your feet by a magnificent, magical creature, and when it happens to you, it’s that arse. And you’re sleeping with him.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Is he any good?”

“Ginny!”

“I’m just asking!” Ginny tried to look serious, but it lasted for two seconds before she doubled over in laughter again.

Hermione’s lips curved into a smile. She sat down and slumped back against the sofa. “It’s pretty good, actually, but I don’t know if that’s because he has some kind of secret Slytherin skills thing going on, or more because I’m just really into the wings.”

Ginny went into another laughing fit.

“I’m glad I could be so amusing,” Hermione said, though now she was grinning too

Ginny sat up and tried to pull herself together. “So, I mean…how’s it going? Is he insulting you while you make him tea?”

“He’s not living here, Ginny. Merlin, I barely ended one relationship. And we haven’t progressed to the tea stage.”

“Just the humping with wings stage?”

Hermione dragged a hand down her face. “Yeah, that one.”

“But…” Ginny looked serious now.

“But I think we might try some of the having tea together type of things. His family’s probably going to disown him when he lets them in on who his mate is, so no Malfoy bucks for me, and I haven’t seen him since the hotel. I think he might be waiting for me to send him an owl.”

Ginny hummed in apparent agreement. “You should. I give you permission if you need someone to tell you that it’s okay. Might as well see where this goes since you felt it was important enough to end your engagement. You didn’t even know if any of us were ever going to talk to you ever again. And the boys, especially Harry, are going to need some cooling off time, but you shouldn’t be afraid to live your life.”

“Ugh.” Hermione tilted her head back and groaned in frustration. “You’re right. I made my bed, might as well lie in it. And I’m going to have to avoid The Anxious Accordion for years now.”

“Hey, about sending that owl?”

Hermione tilted her head towards Ginny, who was grinning like mad again. “Yeah?”

“It has wings and feathers. Do you get all hot and bothered from that?”

“I can’t…no. The answer is no.” She sighed. “I’m going to have to go into hiding.”

Ginny sat forward. “Are you going to buy a bunch of green silk knickers now?”

“Ginny!”

“Or like wrap leather around his ankles or wrists like…what are they called? On a tame falcon?”

“It’s a jess. You’re thinking of jesses.” Hermione’s brain ran away with that one, and she could feel her cheeks burning.

Ginny’s eyes lit up. “Hermione! Who knew? You’re a bad girl!”

“I am not.”

“You weren’t thinking of tying up Draco Malfoy with leather straps?”

Hermione covered her face with her hands again. “Stop.”

“No, this is too much fun. Plus, you saved me from having to wear that terrible bridesmaid dress.”

“It was not terrible.” Hermione sat up and primly put her hands in her lap.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “It was! I just didn’t want to tell you. Now let’s go have lunch. I might not be able to see you as often anymore, but we’re going to make good with the time we have. And—” she pulled the romance novel out from under the post and shook it at Hermione “—you have so much to tell me!”

Hermione winced. “It’s not like the books.”


	15. A Visit

Hermione’s dress was summery, with white roses on a blue background, and brand new. It was rather daring in the front, and she hoped it wasn’t too much. Or maybe it wasn’t enough? She really had no way to know how the afternoon was going to go.

Hermione had finally caved after Ginny’s visit and sent Draco a message. She’d promptly received a reply saying he’d come visit her flat in two days at three in the afternoon.

That had been two days ago, and it was now five minutes after three, but there was still no Draco.

Typical.

She was mad at him, and he wasn’t even there yet. That didn’t bode well. She yanked open the apartment door, thinking to go downstairs and wait out front for him, only to find Draco standing on her front mat.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

He made a face. “I’ve been here for ten minutes trying to drum up enough courage to knock. Not all of us are lions, you know.”

He strode past her into the living room, and Hermione wasn’t entirely sure what to say since he hadn’t actually been late. Damn him. She fluffed a throw pillow and watched the long line of his back, and he ducked his head to examine the spines of several rows of medical textbooks.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” she asked when he seemed determined not to say anything.

“No, I…” He straightened up. “I’m mucking this up.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to say.”

Hermione dropped the pillow back on the couch. “You could always insult me, for old time’s sake.”

He shook his head. “I find myself not wanting to do that much anymore.” He was in simple clothes, black jeans and a white shirt with black shoes. It would be a good look on him if he didn’t appear so tired and rumpled.  

“I could make tea.” Hermione didn’t even know if he drank it, but it felt right to offer.

“S-sure.” She went into the kitchen and carried her tea kettle to the sink to fill. To her surprise, Draco pulled out his wand and lit the stove before going to sit on the edge of one of the wooden chairs at her tiny table. “I saw you have a third edition of _Plants That Cure Magical Animal Bites_ ,” he said as she rooted around in a cupboard for some biscuits to go with the tea.

Hermione grabbed a hopefully not stale package of wafers and turned to look at Draco. “I found it in the second-hand bookshop in Diagon Alley, under a stack of recipe books for charmed vegetables.”

He waved a hand. “That place is atrocious. And it closed down a month ago when the owner finally gave up the ghost.”

“He was…nice.”

“He was doddering.”

“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t nice.” She retrieved a couple of mugs and measured out tea leaves into strainers. Okay, the owner hadn’t been nice, but she wasn’t about to give in and say that.

Draco shrugged, but there was pink tinging his cheeks. “I was thinking of buying it. I managed to stash some funds before I told my mum who I was mated to.”

“Wasn’t she doing poorly?” Hermione asked, not surprised he’d been tossed out on his ear.

“She a bit better now, with my father back at home.” His eyes wouldn’t meet hers as she set a steaming mug beside his elbow.

Hermione sat in the other chair and faced him. “Most of your veela blood comes from her?”

He nodded and spooned sugar into his tea. The spoon clinked against the side of the mug as he stirred. No cream and three teaspoons of sugar, Hermione noted for the next time.

“I don’t mean this to sound terrible, but since when have you had an interest in old books?” she asked.

Draco shrugged. “I never minded learning history, and the library could be a sanctuary.” He glanced at her. “Not that I would have wanted to tell you that, mind you.”

She smiled, and the corners of Draco’s mouth turned upwards as he sipped his tea. “It sounds like a good business, used books.”

“Yeah, there’s quite a market. That volume of yours I just mentioned is worth enough galleons to feed a family for a month.”

“I paid next to nothing.” She was shocked and feeling guilty she’d used as a doorstop once.

Draco smile widened “As I said, the old fellow was barmy at the end. I’m guessing there’ll be more treasures like that hidden away in corners and cupboards. Really could be a good income for a family.”

It was the second time he’d said family, and Hermione reached across the table to put her hand over his free one. “I take it you have an idea of what you want this family to look like?”

He studied his tea. “Not exactly sure yet, but not like what I had. I don’t know how my mum dealt with it, because my instincts insist on…a great many things, but mostly I dream of nights together with you and our…a family, eating and talking and…” He trailed off and shifted on his chair. “I want a lot of things I never had.”

“I really don’t know you,” Hermione said. He turned his hand over and laced his fingers with hers. “But I can tell you that I’ve been dreaming of those same things. A big family, with lots of love to go around, but we have to start at the beginning.”

Draco snorted. “We might have skipped some of that.”

“Just because I find you irresistible doesn’t mean you get to avoid all the parts of dating.”

His face lit up, and he stood, pulling her along with him. “I’m irresistible, am I?”

“Don’t try me,” she said, but couldn’t help giggling at just how pleased with himself he looked. He tilted his head, and she supposed he was trying to smolder at her. She was about to tell him it was ineffective until the tip of his tongue trailed over his bottom lip and she found she couldn’t look away. “Being an adult is strange,” she said, still staring at his mouth. “It’s realizing all the petty things you worried about as a child didn’t matter nearly as much as you thought they did.”

“I don’t think I’d qualify most of what you, Potty, and The Weasel were worried about as petty.”

Hermione blinked. “Did you just call him Potty?”

Draco stepped back and held up both his hands. “I like you, kind of always have, if you want the truth. Especially when you decked me.” Hermione bit her lip at how dreamy-eyes he’d gone. “But that doesn’t mean I’m suddenly going to be incredibly nice to all the losers you call friends.” He sniffed and crossed his arms.

Hermione tried to look stern but then started giggling.

“Am I being funny?”

“Unfortunately, yes. But I won’t worry much about most of my friends. I’m not even sure if we’re still friends after everything.”

Draco dramatically rolled his eyes. “Yes, you are. They’ll get over themselves.”

Strangely, hearing him say it made it feel more like it would happen than anything else had so far. Hermione picked up her tea. “Thank you,” she finally whispered.

“Idiots,” Draco mumbled and sat back down. He drank his tea while making eyes at her over the rim of his mug. She puttered around the kitchen in between sips and darted looks at Draco. Her cheeks warmed up every time their gazes met. He seemed so at home in her tiny kitchen, like he’d always been there. Like he would always be there.

When they finished the tea and Draco had decimated the wafers, she rose, rinsed the mugs, and led him into the living room. Draco awkwardly stood in the middle of the room and glanced nervously around. They needed something to do to break the ice.

“Music?” she asked, kneeling and pulling out her record player--it was enchanted to work without being plugged in-- and the few records she owned.

Draco’s eyes went wide. “Is that what I think it is?”

“If you’re thinking: that’s a muggle device to play recorded music, then yes, it is what you think it is.”

He snorted as she turned it on. “Never pegged you for an owner of contraband.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she said, choosing a record with several waltzes being performed by a full orchestra.

“True.” He said, standing beside her and watching with great interest as she set the needle down. “But I think I’d like to learn.”

Her heart stuttered. They had so much to discover about each other.

The music started playing, and Draco cooked his head to the side, a gesture she was familiar with, just she’d usually seen it while he was wearing a beak and feathers. It reminded her that he was her veela and that there were a few things she did know about him. “Can I have this dance?” she asked holding out a hand. He pulled her to her feet.

“That’s a dangerous proposal to make to a veela.”

“We danced before, and I made it through unscathed.”

“I wasn’t even trying,” he said, pulling her closer. A thrill shot down her spine.

“Then, by all means, I’d like to see you try.”


	16. Feathers

Hermione didn’t feel strange as Draco took her hand in his and slid the other about waist to press his palm against her back. It wasn’t odd when he pulled her close and rested a cheek against her head. Even the gentle sway of his body didn’t alarm her as they moved. At least at first.

As he guided her around her living room, something started to shift. The hair on her arms stood on end, and electricity washed over her skin, making her gasp.

Draco’s hand descended from her waist to her rear, and she whimpered as a dull, warm throbbing built in intensity between her legs. Molten hot desire filled her lower belly, and she gently moved back until their gazes met.

She immediately realized her error as her eye’s locked with his sea-after-a-storm grey ones. Hermione couldn’t look away, and her heart fluttered in her chest.

He was hers, and she was lost in his eyes. Her body was alight with need.

Her front teeth crept over her bottom lip, and Draco groaned.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Why?”

“I need you.” He leaned down, and his lips hovered over hers. “Last chance.”

“Oh, honestly.” She closed the gap and kissed him. It was strange and familiar at the same time. The slide of his mouth on hers, the way he tilts his head, the taste of tea on his lips, is all new. But how she felt, as if she could fly, along with the irresistible pull of him? That was entirely her veela.

With a soft cry, she grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands and deepened the kiss, pressing her tongue deep into his mouth. It was uncharted territory, and Hermione delighted in learning the contours. Draco moaned and pulled her lower half firmly against him, and she wasn’t surprised to feel just how much he needed her.

She hitched a leg around his hip, needing to be closer to him.

Draco hissed, his hands gripped her, but then she yelped as she was pushed roughly away. She ended up crashing down to sit on the couch, puzzled.

“Blast!” Draco said, pulling at his shirt and undoing the buttons in quick succession. She stood to help him, not understanding what was going on. The shirt fluttered to the floor, and Draco winced, his face a mask of pain. She took a step and reached out a hand.

Draco threw his head back with a rough yell as his wings unfurled from his back, stretching out in her small living room.

“Are you okay,” she asked, rushing and cupping his cheek.

Draco nodded. “Hurts for a moment, but it’s better now. I find it hard to ignore that part of me around you.”

“What about the beak?”

“I seem to have more of a choice there, though I think I can put these ruddy things away if you want.” He flapped them once, blowing a paper off the coffee table.

“Don’t you dare get rid of them!”

Draco’s smile was smug. “No?”

Hermione shook her head. “No.” She turned her back to him. “Can you undo my zipper?”

Draco’s fingers were warm as they caressed the nape of her neck. He eased her zipper down, and she let the dress fall to the floor. It was followed by her bra and knickers.

Using the long, black, flight feathers, he brushed the tips of his wings over her breasts and sides.

“You’re lovely, Hermione,” he said. “And brilliant.”

She turned to face him. “I could say the same about you, though I might add selfish prig in there, just for old times sake.”

He rolled his eyes. “Teacher’s pet.”

“Jerk.”

“Pain-in-the-arse.”

She stepped forward and put her arms around his neck, pressing their bodies together. “I’ll accept that one, but now I’m your pain-in-the-arse.”

Draco grinned. His wings crossed behind her as he bent to kiss her again and she leaned against them as he snogged her. It was like something out of one of her romance novels: sweet, hot, and she couldn’t get enough.

They stumbled over to the couch, and after undoing his trousers, she pushed him down onto it. His eyes were hooded, his cheeks flushed, and his lips kiss-swollen.  Hermione straddled him and sank her fingers into his hair.

“This is impossible,” she said, sounding breathless.

“What is?”

“That I can’t imagine my life without you in it. You’re going to drive me crazy, and I think I will love every minute of it.”

Draco took a shuddering breath. “You’ve captured my feelings very well.” His hands caressed her back, and his wings closed around her. She ran her fingers over his neck and shoulders, down his chest, then pulled his arms to where she could see them. Both were smooth and pale with a few freckles. She looked questioningly at him. She knew without a doubt he’d been marked.

“It’s still there,” he said. “But when any part of the veela manifests—” he fluttered his wings “—it’s obscured. I guess the magic understood it would be impossible to woo you with that attracting all the attention.” She put his hands on her breasts, and he groaned. “Bossy chit.”

“You don’t know half.” Hermione leaned forward and sucked his earlobe into her mouth, tugging with her teeth.

“I’m going to have to break you of that.”

She sat bolt upright. “Excuse me?” His smile was teasing. “Ugh, you…you…whatever you are!”

“Your handsome and virile mate?”

“I’m going to kill you in your sleep.”

His wings tightened around her. “Don’t think so.” His fingers played with her nipples, making her squirm.

“Fine. I probably won’t."

“Lucky me.” He surged upward, and she forgot how words worked.

****

Hermione woke in her bed, not remembering how she’d gotten there. Draco was lying beside her on his stomach, his head cradled on his arms. He had one wing furled tight against himself, and the other was laying over her as a surprisingly warm blanket.

She stretched and turned on her side, snuggling against his shoulder. It was very pale, and she couldn’t resist kissing the soft skin covering it, then sucking until he had a hickey marring the spot.

“What are you doing?” Draco asked, sleep making his voice gravelly.

“Marking my mate.”

Draco raised a brow before grinning goofily. “Alright.” He watched her as she gave him a few more love bites. “I always knew you were vicious.”

She laughed. “Only when it comes to you.”

“Mmm, don’t insult your blanket.” He lifted his wing at her, and she yipped as cold air made gooseflesh rise on her arms and legs. Scrambling, she put a knee on either side of his rear and lay against his back with her breasts pressed right above the base of his wings. He stretched them out, then folded them over her.

“Thank you.”

“Can’t let my mate freeze.”

Hermione ran her fingers up and down one wing, straightening feathers and enjoying the feel. Draco gave a happy sounding sigh as she groomed him. It would probably be a regular task for her as his mate. The strong muscles of his wings and back flexed. Not that she would mind doing it, at all.  

Her veela, her mate, her Draco Malfoy — how strange all three of those sounded—made her toes curl. Though she was sure she could straighten them out by asking him to do any chore at all. Only…part of her was looking forward to finding ways to get him to cook and clean. Hermione had zero doubt she already had all the ammunition she would ever need to motivate him because she made his toes curl too.

 One last kiss to his neck and she felt herself drifting towards sleep again. Warm, loved, and walking into the unknown once more, but this time she wasn’t afraid.


	17. The End

_One Year Later_

The space for the wedding was a tiny room with plain furnishings, but Hermione didn’t mind. It was what a used bookseller and a healer with a very small practice could afford.

Draco had lasted two weeks of her being strung out and exhausted from work before throwing a giant fit about her health. Hermione had dug her feet in, and she had finished the year, but then had decided being separated from her mate for such long hours was untenable. She’d come home after shifts to find him draped listlessly over the couch staring at nothing, only to leap the second she was in the door and drag her into the shower, or bed, or wherever he thought she’d let him touch her the most.

He’d never actually asked for her to quit, but she’d worked up a plan and presented it to him, and his relief had been visible. She’d taken part of the used bookshop Draco had purchased and turned it into a clinic that was much more convenient for many witches and wizards. She could deal with most minor injuries or illnesses, and had a deal with a nearby potion shop to send her patients to them if they required anything.

She had regular business hours and Sundays and Mondays off.

It hadn’t taken long with her being well rested and better fed before she’d realized their family was going to expand.

Draco, with his veela senses, had noticed first. The wings and beak had come out, and she’d been thoroughly shagged before he’d gotten it together enough to tell her why he was so excited.

Hermione had confirmed it the next day, and within a week Draco had been down on one knee begging her to be his wife.

Of course she’d said yes.

Even if around sixty percent of the time she was ready to kill him. They bickered constantly, but it was different from when they were children. Not mean, but spirited.

Hermione constantly surprised herself with just how much she loved him.

Ginny was less surprised and was also her only bridesmaid. A few guests milled around, mostly fellow business owners from the shops around there’s that they were friendly with.

Handing Hermione a fragrant pink rose bouquet, Ginny leaned towards her ear. “I can’t believe Blaise came. He was always such a prick.” Zabini was standing and talking with Draco in a corner of the room, they were both smiling, so Hermione wasn’t too worried.

“Probably did it just so he could say he’d been,” Hermione shrugged. “But Draco’s happy, so I can’t complain.”

Ginny laughed. “I might.”

“You just did.”

“Oh, right. Well, as long as Blaise behaves, it’s okay.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Do I look alright.”

“You look lovely. Glowing.”

“I look very five months pregnant, don’t I?” She smoothed her hand over her belly. Her dress was a simple one, falling to her ankles and doing nothing to hide her pregnancy. She had the shoes on she’d bought a year ago, determined to wear them at least once. Hopefully, she wouldn’t fall.

Ginny took her hand. “All kidding aside, you do look great. Happy and healthy. Your veela has been good for you.”

“Thank you.” She gave her friend a one-armed hug, but they separated in confusion as the door to the room swung open.

Hermione’s mouth fell open. “Harry? Ron?”

They smiled as they made their way over. She hadn’t seen them in more than a year, which was understandable. Ginny had said they’d mostly forgiven Hermione, but weren’t as sure how she felt.

Harry shuffled his feet before wrapping her in a hug. “Missed you,” he said as she hugged him back.

“Maybe don’t be a stranger,” she said. “Stop by for tea.”

Harry straightened up. “I’d like that.” He stepped back, and she turned towards Ron. His eyes widened as they fixed on her belly.

“Baby?” he finally managed.

Hermione snorted. “I hope so.”

Ron closed his mouth and hugged her. “You’re radiant. And I know you wanted a family a lot sooner than I did. I’m happy for you. Mostly.” She raised a brow. “Him?” Ron said as he let her go. “Really?”

Ginny laughed. “He’s not so bad.” Ron glared at his sister. “He’s a snarky arse. Which when it’s not aimed at you, is kind of fun. I invited Hermione to a Quidditch match I was covering, and she dragged Malfoy along and I thought I would choke I was laughing so hard.”

“That was really fun,” Hermione said. “I’m sure I’ll be bringing this little guy along before too long.” She patted her stomach.

Ron’s face brightened up. “We can be like uncles, tell him who to cheer for.”

An arm snaked around Hermione, and Draco covered her hand with his own. “You two,” he snarled in Ron and Harry’s direction.

She elbowed her mate. “Be nice. They’re my friends.”

“Do they have to be?”

 She elbowed him harder.

“Malfoy,” Harry started.

Draco broke in. “That’s right. She’s going to be a Malfoy in less than an hour.”

“Not if you don’t shut up,” Hermione snapped. Draco immediately fell silent. That was better. “No going for each other’s throats on my wedding day. Draco, you have to put up with them because they’re part of my life. Harry and Ron, I don’t want to hear a peep about anything regarding my mate.”

Both Harry and Ron solemnly nodded.

Ron squared his shoulders and stepped forward. “You better take good care of her, and make her happy, and congratulations on the wedding and baby and stuff.” He stuck his hand out. Draco scowled at it for a moment before reaching out to shake it.

“What he said,” Harry said. He locked gazes for a long moment, both their faces blank, but then Draco smiled.

“Yeah, thanks. I’m glad you two losers could be here.”

She was going to scold him, but Harry only laughed. “And miss seeing the Slytherin prince getting hitched to one of the golden trio? I don’t think so.”

“Merlin.” Ron shook his head. “Do you feel old? I feel old. It’s like all that was in the dark ages or something. We’re here to be happy for our friend, and I guess Draco too. And we got invited for tea, during which we can regale you with all our death-defying stories.”

“Death defying?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah.” Ron scratched behind his year. “Kind of. I couldn’t tell you before because you’d get upset.”

Draco sighed. “And she’s not going to get upset now?”

“Hey, I can speak for myself.” Hermione stuck her tongue out at her mate before looking at Ron. “And I’m not going to get upset now?”

Harry shook his head. “Not like when you where planning the family thing with Ron. Now you can hug us and tell us to be careful. You know your son’s father will be home every night.”

“You’re right. It is different.” She turned in Draco’s embrace and hugged him briefly before standing back, her fingers interlaced with his.

“Want to ditch these berks and get married?” he asked in a low voice.

“Soon.”

“Hey!” Ginny said. “What if we all started meeting at the Anxious Accordion on Fridays again for a pint? Well, not for Hermione right now, but same sentiment.”

Hermione patted her friend’s arm. “I’d like that.”

Draco, Harry, and Ron were eyeing each other.

Draco rubbed at his temple. “Fine. I guess it will only be for a few hours a week.”

Hermione squeezed his fingers.

Ron and Harry sighed dramatically. “If the girls insist,” Harry said.

“We do,” they chorused, laughing.

“Can we get married now,” Draco rumbled in Hermione’s ear.

Ron crossed his arms. “Do you have to?”

Hermione squeezed Draco’s fingers again. “Yes. I love him.”

“And I love her.” It was written all over his face, and her heart beat a little faster.

Ginny squealed in excitement. “Isn’t it wonderful? Just like a romance novel!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who took a chance on this fic! It was never supposed to take this long, so anyone still reading it after I put it on the back burner so many times, bless you. This is not my fandom by a long shot, so I apologize for any inaccuracies, it's just a trope I like and read once in a while and wanted to have a version of that I knew I'd get a kick out of. I'm thrilled that anyone else liked it as well! Comments are always loved, no matter how long ago I posted this last chapter! You can also reach me on tumblr [@sunalso](https://sunalsolove.tumblr.com) if you're more comfortable that way. 
> 
> -sunAlso 1/4/2019, my living room


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